


Time with Wolves

by Mollyraesly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Growing Up, Arya and Sansa like each other, Car Trips, Deal With It, F/M, Fluff, Jon/Ygritte - Freeform, Pining, Sansa dates other boys, Sansa goes to law school, Teenagers, Wolves, and tears, awkward jon, but one without trauma or abuse, but then angst, like nauseating, like so much fluff, nerdy sansa, turns into very much a slow-burn, we are still slow burning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mollyraesly/pseuds/Mollyraesly
Summary: A story about how Sansa and Jon mature and learn to love each other, brick by brick. As teens, they both harbor secret crushes that grow as they go on trips together to the wolf reservation to visit Ghost, a wolf pup who just needs a little love. Fluff in the beginning with a great deal of angst and growing up in the middle. A happy ending is assured!





	1. Time with Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azulaahai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/gifts), [Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies/gifts).



> Written for the Jonsa_exchange! A gift for azulaahai!

She had not really wanted to go in the beginning.

Sansa had been getting ready to go to the mall with Margaery, who firmly believed that one needed to change one’s entire wardrobe with the changing of the seasons. Sansa lacked Margaery’s flagrant disregard for financial prudence, and her parents had instilled in her too much good sense to throw out the entire contents of her closet and buy new clothes every season.

“Winter is coming,” her father would always lovingly remind her whenever flip-flop season was nearing its end. “You’ll be glad you still have all those sweaters from three years ago when the snows fall and the winds blow.”

Nevertheless, she enjoyed shopping—mostly looking at designer dresses. Sansa was kind of a nerd when it came to stitching patterns. Her mom had noticed Sansa was good at sewing when she was younger and let her take a local class on embroidery. Her brothers and sister teased her for it, but they always wore the embroidered items she made them for Christmas. Sansa was looking forward to getting some inspiration at the fancy shops Margaery insisted on visiting.

But Margaery had called her minutes before they were set to leave to let her know that something came up and she couldn’t make it. Sansa was disappointed but unsurprised. Margaery was kind of a flake—and more than once had blown Sansa off when a better opportunity came along.

So without the prospect of inspecting dresses and drinking lemonade and eating sweet cinnamon pretzels at the food court, Sansa had nothing to do. And therefore, she had no excuse when Robb and Arya went to go visit the Wall, the local wolf reservation, not to tag along.

No that she didn’t try. “I don’t know,” she had demurred. “Maybe I’ll just stay in and work on my math homework.” Math was Sansa’s worst subject. About to enter the ninth grade, she was still just trying to tackle basic Algebra. Her old teacher had given her remedial homework to do over the summer so she could go over the problems she’d struggled with. It frustrated her to be so bad at math because she usually excelled at everything she put her mind to, if not through natural talent then through sheer persistence.

“Sansa, are you really such a teacher’s pet that you are going to do math on a Saturday...in the summer?” Arya teased.

And that’s how Sansa found herself in the back of Jon Snow’s beat up car on the way to the wolf reservation.

Sansa had known Jon for what seemed like her entire life, but they’d never been close. He was Robb’s best friend and like a second older brother to Arya. He helped Bran train for the Paralympics and made dirt pies with Rickon. But around Sansa he’d often freeze up and turn silent.

Sansa could admit that she’d been lost in her preteen bubble for a few years and hadn’t noticed the distance between herself and Jon. But no one could have missed the way his ears turned pink when he realized Sansa was coming with them and how he raced to clean up the backseat of his car before she got in.

“She’s not a princess, Jon,” Arya had barked. “She won’t be offended by your hockey stuff.”

But Jon wouldn’t let it go. Sansa stood awkwardly as she waited for him to let her in the car. When he finally did, she whispered her thanks to him, and Jon turned bright pink.

Conversation in the car never stopped, even though Sansa said very little and Jon spoke hardly at all. Arya and Robb didn’t seem to notice as they bickered back and forth about the latest Marvel movie.

Sansa sat primly with her knees close together behind Robb’s seat. She was a little too tall to be sitting in the back of a car as small as Jon’s, but she didn’t want to say anything. She took pride in her good manners.

She found Jon’s eyes flitting over to look at her in the mirror several times. She fidgeted with her hands and tried to ignore the way the car smelled oppressively like Jon. Not unpleasant, quite the opposite, actually. Just a tad overwhelming, especially when he kept looking at her.

Sansa might not have spent much time with Jon over the past few years, but she still had eyes. She knew that Jon was attractive. He had dark eyes and pouty lips and ridiculously beautiful curly hair for a boy.

In the last couple of years, Sansa had been teased for liking only pretty boys. Joffrey and Loras and Harry—all of whom had blonde hair and light eyes. Margaery said she had a type and Arya accused her of liking only boys who’d look good in photos.

But Sansa hadn’t always gone for blondes. When she was much younger, her first ever crush had been on Waymar Royce, an actor from the North who played the romantic lead in her favorite BBC adaptation of “A Dance with Dragons.” He had dark hair and even darker eyes, and Sansa still watched that seven-part series at least once a year.

Arya teased her for that too, but there wasn’t much Arya didn’t seem to find about Sansa’s passions that weren’t worth mocking. It didn’t bother her too much, though, in this case, because Arya would always sneak in to watch the end of part five when the blacksmith took his shirt off. She’d usually stay for the rest and let Sansa braid her hair or paint her toes, roll her eyes when Sansa told her she was pretty, and then ask her for help with how to do her eyeliner or what she should do if the mysterious boy she liked—who was clearly Gendry from her shop class, but Sansa played dumb so as not to upset her—seemed to treat her like one of the guys.

Arya had always attracted male attention, but lately not in the way she wanted. Sansa had only been kissed twice, but she read a lot of Teen Vogue and so offered her best advice.

Nothing in Teen Vogue had prepared her for how squirmy she felt under Jon’s gaze, though. She was relieved when they finally pulled into the parking lot of the wolf reservation.

Sansa had been to the wolf reservation when she was much younger when their dad used to take them. There had been a wolf named Lady that she was attached to, but Lady had died a few years ago from disease. And Sansa had stopped wanting to go to the reservation after that.

She got a little teary-eyed thinking of Lady’s gentleness and soft fur, but quickly wiped the tears away before Arya could see.

“Ready, Sansy-pants?” Robb asked her as he threw an arm around her shoulder and mussed up her hair.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Let’s go in.”

Arya ran to go find Nymeria, this near-feral wolf she had a deep connection with, and Rob with a last tug on Sansa’s hair and an easy smile went to go seek out his favorite, Grey Wind.

Sansa fidgeted with her hands as she walked around the reservation and waved at familiar faces in greeting. She had forgotten how the entire place was chilled to a much lower temperature for the wolves.

She shivered slightly. She had not worn a heavy enough coat.

“You cold?” Jon asked.

Sansa jumped a little as he came up behind her. “No,” she answered immediately and then blushed. “Well, yes,” she admitted after a moment. “But I don’t mind,” she added truthfully. “There’s something—soothing—about the cold. I’d forgotten. I haven’t been here in a long time. Not since—since Lady—” She turned away from him slightly and felt foolish for all her stammering.

Jon stayed quiet next to her, until at last he spoke. “You cried for weeks after she died.”

“I was such a drama queen. So silly and stupid.”

Jon frowned. “No, I don’t think you were. Lady was important to you. That’s not silly or stupid.” He sighed. “Do you want—there’s a wolf pup I like—do you want—would you like to see him?”

“Okay.”

Jon’s hand hovered at Sansa’s lower back, never actually touching her, but gently guiding her over to where this wolf pup was kept. He retracted it immediately once they reached their destination.

“Hey, Mr. Mormont.”

An older man looked up from the ground where he was putting down feed behind a fenced pen:

“Afternoon, Jon. Who do you got with you today?”

There was not really more than the barest hint of suggestion behind the man’s question, but Jon’s ears turned bright pink anyway.

“I’m Sansa Stark,” Sansa introduced herself.

“Ned’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

The man nodded in approval. “Ned’s a good man. Donates to the preservation every year. I’m Jeor Mormont. Nice to meet you.” He did not wait for Sansa to return the pleasantry. “Give me a moment. I’ll get him out for you, child.”

Sansa stood still as Jon awkwardly shifted his weight beside her. They said nothing as they waited, but when Mormont returned, Jon’s hand went back to her lower back, fingertips almost skimming her jacket this time, and guided her forward into the pen.

“He’s a bit shy this morning,” Mormont told them. “Doesn’t get many visitors. Not many come to see the runt of the litter—just Jon here.”

Sansa did not look, but she could feel Jon’s embarrassment beside her. She gasped a bit when she noticed the pup’s red eyes.

“Is he—blind?” she asked.

“No,” Mormont answered. “He’s an albino—that’s why his fur is so white.”

Sansa nodded as she got over her initial concern.

“He’s silent, can’t get him to make a sound,” Mormont continued. “He tends to be a bit skittish around newcomers. You best let Jon approach him first.”

Sansa stood back and watched as Jon moved forward to let the pup sniff his hand. He started murmuring soft words to the pup that Sansa couldn’t hear but that caused a low rumble to form in her belly. Jon leaned forward to touch the wolf’s head and carefully pay his ears.

“What’s his name?” Sansa asked.

“Ghost,” Jon told her quietly. “He’s from the same pack as Lady.”

Sansa nodded, her heart suddenly full. “Can I—?”

Mormont frowned. “Just be careful, girl, like I said, he’s not the best with newcomers.”

Sansa bit her lip but nevertheless inched forward. Jon reached out to grab her hand, and Sansa took his. He held it out to Ghost to sniff.

Ghost looked a bit skittish for a moment but then calmed down when Jon whispered to him. He gestured for Sansa to move a little closer.

“Hi, Ghost,” she whispered. “My name is Sansa. Will you let me pet you?”

The wolf pup whined a bit as he stared at her. Sansa remained still as she waited until finally the wolf bowed its head to her.

“Careful, child. Go ahead, but be careful.”

Sansa nodded at Mormont and then tentatively moved her fingertips over to touch Ghost’s head as Jon had done. Beside her, Jon was still murmuring soft, relaxing sounds.

Ghost’s fur was soft and warm. Sansa smiled as it sifted through her fingertips. “Oh, Ghost, you’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” She asked him.

Ghost moved suddenly, and Mormont cleared his throat nervously. But the movement was only so that the pup could get closer to Sansa’s hand. He nuzzled against it as his throat vibrated almost like a cat’s when it purred. A moment later, Ghost has moved into his back so that Sansa could rub his belly.

Sansa grinned and did just that. “Aren’t you handsome? What a good boy you are,” she repeated before looking up to see the dumbstruck faces of Jon and Mr. Mormont. “What?” she asked in confusion.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mormont said with a soft whistle. “You bring this young lady back with you next time, Jon Snow. I’m going to go check on one of the other pups.” He looked back at Ghost, whose tongue was lagging ever so slightly. “Seems pretty clear you don’t need me standing guard.”

Mormont wandered over to a different pen, and Jon moved closer to Sansa.

“I had a feeling Ghost’d take to you, but I didn’t think he’d literally let you scratch his belly.”

Sansa grinned. “Don’t be jealous. I can scratch yours too later.” As soon as she said it, her face turned pink and she stopped her movements.

Ghost nudged her hand, and she resumed her ministrations. “Oh, shush,” she teased the pup. “I’m sure he still loves you best,” she told Jon.

“Doubtful.”

Sansa grabbed Jon’s hand and placed it onto Ghost’s belly to join hers.

Jon cleared his throat. “I guess I can’t blame him. It’s good to see you around wolves again. They suit you.”

Sansa smiled.

She was still smiling were back in the car on the way home.

Robb and Arya bickered, just as they had on the ride up. Jon kept his eyes on the road, but every so often Sansa caught him staring at her in the rear-view mirror.

The ride did not last long enough. When they reached her house, Robb tried to cajole Jon into staying for dinner, but he declined politely. “My mom isn’t working tonight. I want to make sure she doesn’t eat alone.”

Robb slapped Jon on the back, and Arya literally leaped into his arms to give him a hug.

“Gods, you’re heavy,” Jon groaned, but he lifted her with ease. Arya stuck her tongue out at him and then challenged Robb to a race to the front door. They were both gone in an instant.

Sansa fiddled with her purse as tried to think of what to say.

Jon shuffled over to her, his hands fisted in the front pockets of his too-tight black jeans.

“Thanks for driving—and for Ghost. I really appreciate it.”

Jon nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Sansa was about to make her escape when Jon spoke. “Would you—would you like to go back to the reservation? Next week—with me? To see Ghost? It’s only, he is a bit skittish, and you were so good with him—and Mormont said—and I could drive—whenever time would work for you—and—”

Sansa smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Jon smiled back.

“Good night, Jon.”

“G’night, Sansa.”

Sansa turned to follow in Robb and Arya’s path into the house. She kept an eye on Jon as he started his beat-up car back up and slowly drove away.

When she stepped through the door, she found her father standing in the hallway. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “Did you have a good time, little one?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “It was lovely. I think maybe I’ll go back next week. Jon said he’d take me.”

“Jon said, hmm?” Ned murmured and then hummed under his breath.

“Is that okay?” Although her siblings adored Jon, her mother had always been cool toward him. Her dad had gone to high school with Jon’s mom, and there was weird tension about Jon’s absentee dad that Sansa did not fully understand.

“Of course, sweetling. I trust Jon. He’ll keep you safe.” Ned kissed the top of her head once more. “And more importantly, I trust you. Now, go wash your hands. Dinner is almost ready.”

Sansa kissed her father’s cheek and then scooted our of the hallway. As she washed her hands, she realized she could still smell the scent of Jon on her clothes, and the thought made her smile.

She might not have wanted to spend her day at the wolf reservation, but she made a silent wish that she would make many more trips to see Ghost. And, she thought, as her face flushed, to spend time with Jon.


	2. Time with Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally time with Jon without pesky siblings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked this premise so I decided to keep going with it. I don't think this fic will be very long and it won't be all fluff. Thanks for reading!

The next week they went back to the wolf reservation, and so did Arya and Robb. There was no way to tell her siblings that she wanted to go with just Jon by themselves without arising suspicion, so she played along and tried not to look overly eager when she spied from her bedroom window his beat-up car arrive in their driveway.

Her impulse was to wear something cute, something with straps or that showed off her long legs. But they were not going to the pool or the movies; they were going to a wolf reservation. So she stuck to thick jeans and a coat, even though the weather was still warm for the end of summer. But she did spend extra attention doing her makeup to make herself look like she was wearing no makeup at all. Her friend Myranda swore that this look was what older boys liked. And being only about to enter high school while Robb and Jon were going to be seniors, Sansa was willing to do anything to make herself seem more attractive to older boys.  
She kept her hands in her lap and did her best to avoid staring at the back of Jon’s head on the rides back and forth. She usually failed, and every time she caught Jon’s eyes in the rearview window, her stomach fluttered.   
  
Once they arrived at the reservation, though, Arya and Robb were quick to leave them alone. Jon’s hand would linger at her lower back and stay there for almost an hour and a half as they played with Ghost under Mr. Mormont’s supervision. Ghost was so gentle and well-behaved. Even though he didn’t speak, Sansa knew just from his eyes and the loll of his tongue that he was glad for their special attention.  
  
But when Robb and Arya found them when their visiting time was up, Jon’s hand disappeared, and a foot and a half of space between them appeared in its place.  
  
Sansa selfishly wished that Robb and Arya would just disappear in those moments so she could have Jon’s gentle eyes and soft hand brushes for longer instead of his averted gaze and hands shoved into his pockets. Jon never spoke that much, but Sansa enjoyed their companionable silence. And when she’d sing to Ghost, Jon would sometimes hum along. She longed for more alone time with him without curious eyes following them. If she could get him talking longer, maybe he’d realize that she was more than just Robb’s little sister.  
But the following week after school had started and Arya was at a fencing competition and Robb was out with Theon, Sansa finally did have Jon to herself. And she had no idea what to do about it.  
  
Jon seemed just as surprised as her. When he saw her come out of the front door alone, he’d even asked her where the others were.  
  
“Just me today,” Sansa explained while fidgeting with her hands, which had become inexplicable sweaty. “Is that ok?”  
  
Jon nodded. “Yeah,” he swallowed as his fingers clenched the wheel.   
  
Sansa opened the passenger door, just as Jon opened his.  
  
“Oh,” she breathed.  
  
“I was going to—“  
  
“You don’t have to—“  
  
“I’m going to—“  
  
Sansa tried to keep her face from growing too flushed as she moved out of the way so Jon could open the door for her.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Jon’s car smelled even more like him in the front seat. There were stickers of wolves decorating the cup holder and a religious medal pinned to the sun visor above the driver’s seat. His car didn’t have working air conditioning, so he kept the windows cracked open.  
When Jon dropped back into his seat, Sansa tried to look like she hadn’t been inspecting the front of the car for any trace of personal items.  
  
Jon turned his keys in the ignition. “Seat belt?” he asked.  
  
Sansa hurriedly fastened the belt across her chest as he did the same. When he was done, he handed her his giant block iPod that was connected to a USB cord covered in tape. “Here. You can pick the music.”  
  
Sansa took the iPod with a sense of dread. All her siblings teased her for having crap taste in music. Robb liked classic rock, and Arya liked rap, ska, and punk (though, when they had gotten drunk at Christmas last year, Sansa swore she caught her singing Abba). Bran exclusively listened to jazz or classical, and Rickon was obsessed with Dubstep or any song associated with memes. Sansa typically just listened to what her friends put on—which was whatever was popular on the radio. She did not want to disappoint Jon or make him think she was some shallow girl who only listened to pop stars. Frantically, she scrolled through the artists and out on the first name she recognized.   
  
Jon grinned. “I love The Cure.”  
  
Sansa sighed in relief. They listened to the music in science, and Sansa tried to focus on the melodies and words to see why Jon loved the band. Every so often she’d catch him tapping his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel or mouthing lyrics. She made a mental note to download all of their albums later that night.  
  
Jon opened the door for her to get out of the car once they reached the parking lot to the reservation. His hand lingered at her back, and she felt brave enough to relax into his touch but not bold enough to catch his eye while doing so.  
  
Their time with Ghost was mostly the same as it had been before. He was such a sweet animal, even with the fangs. “My sweet prince,” Sansa called him.  
  
“I thought that title was reserved for Aemon the Dragon Knight.”  
  
“I didn’t know you’ve watched ‘A Dance with Dragons.’” Sansa watched it obsessively, but she’d never mentioned the adaptation to Jon. It was not exactly something that senior boys in high school cared about. Robb only knew of it because she forced the whole family to sit through at least three hours of the seven-hour series each year on her birthday.  
“Of course I have,” Jon told her. “Read the books too. I really like all the medieval battles and the stuff that happens with the giants in the North. But I like the other stuff, too—you know, Florian and Jonquil. That’s one of your favorites, right?”  
  
Sansa nodded, feeling lighter than air. Nothing was more romantic than the story of Florian and Jonquil. The fact that Jon knew who they were—she could sing.

The rest of their evening passed quickly, and they were back at her driveway before she realized it. She started as the engine came to a stop.  
  
“Thanks, Jon,” she whispered shyly as she played with the tips of her hair. Suddenly, she worried that maybe Jon wouldn’t want to keep going, if it was just the two of them. “It’s all right that we go see Ghost, even if it’s just me and you, right? I don’t want to force you to keep chauffeuring me around. Do you want money for gas or—?”  
  
“No,” he answered quickly. His eyes followed her fingers. “It’s not a problem. It’s not—I mean, I don’t mind—I like spending time with you.” He coughed. “And I’m going anyway and your house is on my way. So just—don’t worry about it.”  
  
Sansa nodded. “When I get a car, I’ll drive you around.”

Jon laughed. “That won’t be for a couple more years. This is fine. I drive; you pick the music.”

Sansa nodded again and prepared herself to stay up half the night researching Jon’s taste in music. They’d listened to Hozier, Bruce Springsteen, the Smashing Pumpkins, and more of The Cure on the ride back. She’d snuck a text to Bran at the wolf preservation to ask him what he’d think Jon would like. She knew Bran wouldn’t ask her any questions about it. He was nice that way.  
“I better let you get back inside. I’ve already kept you longer than I should have.”  
  
He came around the car to open the door for her and wished her good night.  
  
Sansa stayed in the driveway and watched him drive away. When he was out of sight, she let out a little squeak she’d been holding in for far too long.


	3. Time with Fries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fastest way to a man's heart....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And special thanks to the people who've been leaving comments!

The next week when Jon opened the car door for Sansa, his help was actually necessary because her hands were busy carrying a giant tupperware container.  
  
“What’s that for?” he asked.  
  
“Umm...it’s for you.” She fidgeted with the container, frozen in front of the empty car. Sansa could not look at him. She had spent several nights the past week fretting about what she could give Jon to thank him for driving her back and forth. She knew he wouldn’t take any money, and she couldn’t trade chores with him like she did with Robb and Arya. She didn’t know enough about Jon’s hobbies; besides playing hockey and going to visit the wolf-reservation, he always seemed busy with school and his part-time job working for the park rangers. Jon never asked for anything. But he did like to eat, even if he often shrugged off dinner invites. Sansa had seen him more often than not sheepishly fill his plate with second helpings or reach for a third or fourth cookie. His favorite seemed to be gingersnaps. She’d seen him wolf down over ten of those one night two Christmases ago.  
  
She peeled off the container lid to show him the rows of cookies she’d neatly arranged. She had to bake over four batches of cookies yesterday so she could blame the baking on wanting to try out a new recipe and not arouse suspicion that she was baking for someone in particular. She had put only the most symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing cookies in the container for Jon. “They’re gingersnaps.”  
  
“For me?”  
  
She nodded. “I know school barely started, and it’s more of a winter cookie, but I just thought—I hope you don’t mind—“  
  
“Gingersnaps are my favorite.” He gave her a soft smile. “You made these for me?”  
  
She nodded again.  
  
“Thank you, Sansa.”   
  
She smiled and handed him the container before getting into his car. Jon closed the door after her, and by the time he sat down behind the wheel, he was finishing the last bite of a gingersnap.  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“Best cookie I’ve ever had.”  
  
She glowed.   
  
The cookies became part of their routine, along with the door-opening, Ghost belly rubs, and The Cure. Sansa looked forward to their time together more than anything; it was her favorite part of the week, second to baking a different batch of cookies, imagining what Jon would say about them. He’d enjoyed all of her creations, but gingersnaps were still his favorite.   
  
Ghost was growing more and more each week. He could no longer really be called a pup, but Sansa insisted on cooing over him still. After Jon would race Ghost and teach him simple commands, Sansa would comb out the knots of his hair with her fingers and sing to the mute wolf. Ghost made her miss Lady at the same time she felt that hole in her heart start to heal by his presence.  
  
One week, after Halloween, Sansa, to her dismay, found she had no cookies to give Jon. Rickon had been wild since going Trick-or-Treating without their parents for the first time. Arya and Bran did very little to supervise him. He ate his pillowcase full of candy within just three days and had been devouring anything with sugar to keep the high. He and his friends ate all the cookies Sansa made while she was out buying fabric and yarn at the craft store with her mom.  
  
Catelyn had gotten angry and told Rickon that this eating pattern had to stop before he lost all his teeth. She made him sit down that night and eat every vegetable she put on his plate.  
  
Sansa had been upset with him but could not tell him why without blowing her cover. Rickon, like everyone else in her family, thought she was just trying different recipes. So she could not get mad at him, especially when he wrapped his arms around her waist and told her the peanut butter ones were his favorite and the recipe was perfect.  
  
There had been time to make more cookies but no butter and no way to get more without making them all wonder what she was really up to in making new batches of cookies each week.  
  
So Sansa greeted Jon with nothing in hand, feeling terribly guilty and anxious.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Jon asked as soon as he got behind the wheel and noticed her empty hands fidgeting in her lap.  
  
Sansa explained as much as felt appropriate. She did not want Jon to realize that her baking for him was a secret. But she didn’t want him to think she was ungrateful, either. “I’m sorry,” she said to end her practiced speech.   
  
Jon sighed. “Sansa, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
“But—now I’ve got nothing to thank you—“  
  
“You don’t need to thank me.”  
  
“But the ride—gas money—and—“  
  
Jon pulled over to the side of the road, put the car in park, and turned in his seat. “Sansa, stop apologizing. I love everything you bake—especially your gingersnaps. But you don’t have to give me anything. I’d still come pick you up each week.”  
  
“Why?” Sansa asked, voicing a question that had been on her mind for weeks.  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why do you give up your Friday nights to take me to the wolf reservation?” It seemed silly to say it aloud, but she had to know. She wasn’t the favorite of any of her siblings. Margaery seemed to be a friend whenever it was convenient for her. Mya and Myranda were best friends with each other before they were with her. Sansa was quiet and a little prudish. She liked romance novels, baking, and knitting. She wore dresses more than pants and spent hours brushing her hair. She was too tall and too pale. She liked to please adults and had never gotten in trouble. She had never had more than a few sips of alcohol and had never even been offered drugs. And she was still only fifteen. Why would Jon—who’d be eighteen just before Christmas—want to waste his Friday nights with her? Especially when Jon was so handsome.  
  
Jon brought a hand to rest on the seat behind her shoulder. “Sansa, I’m the one who asked you to come with me, remember? I like spending time with you.”  
  
“You do? But Arya always says if I saw a good time dancing naked in front of me I’d make it sit down and force it to drink tea until it calmed down.”  
  
Jon laughed and shook his head, his curls jostling from the movement. “That sounds like something Arya would say.” Then his voice turned soft as his gray eyes studied her. “She’s not right, though. I always have a good time when I’m with you, Sansa. You’re good with words and manners and people—much better than me. You bring out the best in everyone. You always find a way to show people you care...even in the little things.” Jon’s ears grew pink. “And Ghost would bite my hand off if I showed up without you now.”  
  
Sansa’s eyes had grown a bit wet, but she laughed at his last words. “Well, we can’t have that.”  
  
Jon’s fingers dipped as though they were going to reach out and touch her hair, but a moment later his hands were back on the steering wheel and they were on the road again.  
  
They were both quieter than usual when they first got to the wolf reservation. Sansa, because she kept repeating Jon’s words over and over in her head and trying to figure out what he meant by them. She could not stay lost in her own thoughts for long, though; Ghost was in a particularly playful mood. Mr. Mormont was working on getting Ghost to perform more complicated commands and was feeding him a small piece of moose meat each time he did something correct. Each time Jon and Mr. Mormont gave Ghost a piece of meat, he’d bring it over to Sansa to show it to her, as though it were a trophy. His preening made Sansa laugh, but she kept fussing over him so that he’d continue the cycle.

 

By the time they had to leave, Sansa’s face was warm from all the smiling and laughter. She turned to Jon as they made their way to the passenger door. “Ghost was so happy today.”

“He should be. He ate half a moose!” His stomach let out a loud rumble as he took his seat behind the wheel.

“Hungry?” she asked with a chuckle.

He looked sheepish. “I skipped lunch. Mr. Mikken needed help with some broken desks in his classroom.”

Sansa smiled. “You’re such a do-gooder, Jon Snow. What have we done to deserve you?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer—or rather, awkwardly shrug away her praise. “Pull into that drive-through on your next right!”

“Huh?” Jon asked but did as she said. “What is this place?”

“The Ice Shack!” Sansa exclaimed. “They have the best milkshakes! Turn into that lane!”

Jon pulled up to the speaker, which was shaped like a penguin, and went wide-eyed when a voice asked them what he wanted.

“Two double cheeseburgers, everything on them, one large fry, and two strawberry milkshakes,” Sansa answered promptly. “Oh! And extra ketchup packets!”

The voice on the speaker told them their total. As Jon coasted up to the next window, Sansa dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “I am paying, and I don’t want to hear anything about it. I know I don’t have to. I want to.” She reached over Jon and handed the cashier a twenty dollar bill. When she settled back in her chair, Jon was shaking his head.

“You Starks,” he murmured.

“What about us Starks?”

He did not have to answer because the cashier was back with their food. Jon handed the milkshakes and grease-laden bag to Sansa and then found a spot in the parking lot and turned off the car.

As soon as his hands were free, Sansa started shoving food in his direction. Jon groaned as he started shoving fries into his mouth. He ripped the burger out of its wrapper and took a giant bite. “God, that’s good.”

Sansa giggled. “Ketchup?”

“Thanks.” Jon took a long sip of his milkshake. “How’d you know I like strawberry?”

“Because strawberry is the best,” she replied with a smile. That was something her dad always said whenever he ordered milkshakes. And then he’d wink at her mom, a private joke Sansa had never fully understood.

Jon finished drinking and quickly wiped his mouth, his ears growing pink. “Sorry, I’m being a pig.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mind.” Impossibly, Sansa made eating a burger in a car seem dainty. She’d arranged the wrapper like a napkin on her lap and was holding her burger carefully with both hands.

“Yeah, but—”

“But what?”

Jon looked away. “Downing junk food in the car. It just seems…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, not like something you normally do.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Jon, I basically forced you to pull over.”

“Well, it’s just that this isn’t very dignified—”

Sansa laughed. “You do realize I only watch movies about medieval princesses and I’m not actually one of them, right? Robb’s my older brother; I’ve eaten food in a car before.”

Jon chortled under his breath. “I know! It’s silly. Of course you have. It’s just, you’re so proper! Even now, you’re being so neat, and I’m a mess. I have mustard in my hair.”

Sansa leaned over and wiped the mustard out of his curls with her napkin. “You are a little bit of a mess, yes,” she said, giggling. “But no worse than Rickon most days.”

“Oh, so I’m comparable to a seven-year-old.”

“A very hungry one.” She’d not told Jon that Rickon at all his cookies, but she was quite glad he did. If Jon had eaten a few cookies earlier, they probably would not be sharing the last few fries in an abandoned parking lot.

She smiled and continued to eat her burger, grinning as she saw Jon try and fail to be neater. A piece of lettuce covered in ketchup fell into his hair.

She giggled.

“Oh, just toss me some more napkins, Princess Sansa!”

Grinning, she obliged. "That's Queen in the North, to you, Jon Snow."

   


	4. Time with Parking Lots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And for the comments and kudos! We are starting to get more toward a plot!

They didn’t get burgers the next time. Rickon had mercifully left the heart-shaped raspberry linzer tarts she spent more than four hours making alone because he hated the seeds in raspberry jam. Which was the precise reason why Sansa made them, even though they took forever.  
  
She felt more comfortable back in their routine of him opening the car door for her and her handing him a Tupperware box full of homemade treats.  
  
But they didn’t completely go back to normal. After saying goodbye to Ghost, Jon said he felt a little parched. “Want to go get some Slurpees?”  
  
“Yes please!”  
  
He drove back to the closest 7-Eleven, and they picked fun at each other’s beverage choices as they filled up their drinks.   
  
“I can’t believe you don’t mix all the flavors.”  
  
“Cherry limeade simply does not belong with blue raspberry, fruit punch, cotton candy, and Coca-Cola, Jonathan,” she teased.  
  
“At least my drink has more than just lemonade.”  
  
“Besides lemonade, what more does a girl need?”  
  
Jon shook his head at her, though his smile negated any feigned exasperation.   
  
He insisted on paying for the Slurpees. “Save your $1.79 for the next lemonade stand you pass.”  
  
They drank their ridiculously sized Slurpees in the parking lot as they munched on cookies.   
  
Jon complained of brain freeze five minutes in, and Sansa, feeling brave, reached over to rub his temples for him. At her ministrations, he let out the smallest groan that she felt all the way down her spine to her toes. He closed his eyes in relief.  
  
“You look like you’re in a wolf dream. Shall I sing to you, the way I do for Ghost?” she asked with a smirk.  
  
“Yes, please,” Jon surprised her.  
  
Sansa froze and then retracted her fingers. She had not been expecting that answer. “Maybe another day.”  
  
“I’ll look forward to it.” Jon found her eyes with his. “I like listening to you sing.”  
  
She didn’t think he paid that much attention when she sang to Ghost at the reservation. She mostly just did it under her breath. Sansa loved musicals, but there was a reason she had never gotten more involved in her high school’s theatre program, beyond helping with costumes. “I’m not very good.”  
  
“You are to me. I think you’re good at pretty much everything you do, Sansa Stark.”  
  
“Except math,” she reminded him.  
  
“Well, nobody’s perfect.”

“Besides Ghost.”

“Well, of course. He’s our sweet boy.”  
  
Sansa didn’t respond. She just sipped at her Slurpee and highered the volume on the car radio, feeling too overwhelmed with happiness to respond. “Just Like Heaven” played, and she could not help but to agree with what the lyrics were telling her.  
  
The next week they got hot chocolate, which was far more weather appropriate for the time of year as the leaves were almost all gone and the November chill was setting in. Jon tried and failed to drink his neatly, and Sansa did her best not to laugh when he spilled some all over his too-tight jeans. She sent him home with a container full of Snickerdoodles and a promise that one day she’d teach him the art of dining with manners.  
  
“You, Rickon, and Arya can all be in my remedial class,” she teased. “Ms. Stark’s etiquette lessons for the barbarous.” She had been too busy rolling her eyes at the idea to see the way Jon’s eyes darkened at “Ms. Stark.”   
  
The next week it was shortbread and hot apple cider; the week after lemon tea and sugar cookies shaped like wolves.  
  
“How did you get them to look like that?” Jon had asked, impressed.  
  
Sansa’s cheeks grew warm with a blush. “I ordered a special cookie cutter online. I thought it’d come in handy. For birthdays and Father’s Day.”  
  
“Don’t forget Halloween and graduations. All you Starks and your wolves,” Jon pressed.  
  
The word made her pause. “What do you want to do after graduation?” Her parents were constantly asking Robb about the status of his college applications. Her mom wanted him to have everything done before Thanksgiving the next week. It was a fight back and forth almost every night at the dinner table, as Robb just wanted to apply to Winterfell University and her mom insisted he have some backup schools.  
  
Jon didn’t answer right away, and Sansa worried she overstepped. But just as she was about to take the question back, he answered.  
  
“Mom doesn’t have—I can’t afford to go to a fancy college without a scholarship. The hockey scouts haven’t come calling either. And to be honest, I’m a bit done with school anyway. I like to read, and you know I like history. But I’m tired of writing papers and sitting in class.”  
  
Sansa nodded, though she couldn’t relate. She loved school. Pleasing teachers came easy to her, as did writing notes neatly in her purple notebook, studying flashcards, and going to bed early on school nights. “So if not college...”  
  
“I want to join the army.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jon let out a shaky breath. “Mom isn’t too thrilled either.”  
  
Sansa shook her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s dangerous...but,” she paused, considering him. Her face grew warm with pride imagining him in the uniform. “I can see it.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. You’re smart and resourceful. Brave. Strong. But kind. You care for people; you help them. I think you’d be an amazing soldier actually. Just—“  
  
“Just what?”  
  
_Just don’t die_. “Just don’t know how you’ll cope with them shaving off all your pretty hair.”  
  
Jon winced. “Don’t remind me.”  
  
Sansa grinned, but it was only half-hearted.  
  
“You really think I’ll make a good solider?”  
  
“Yeah, I do.” She wanted to tell Jon that he had a way of always making her feel safe, like she was precious cargo he was driving around. It wasn’t condescending, not like Robb when he teased her for needing a brave knight to carry her over puddles. Jon never acted like Sansa couldn’t take care of herself on her own; he just acted like Jon. And that meant with respect. “Now that you say it, I feel like I’ve known all along that’s what you’ll be.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jon smiled. “I’ve been nervous about telling people. Mom’s been so worried, and I know most people think that the army is a last resort. But I have always been drawn to it. My mom says I’ve got a bit too romantic vision of it, and I know it’s not like it is in the movies. But I think it will be what I’ve been looking for—a chance to have brothers-in-arms, to have a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging.”

Sansa was quiet. She had never really considered that Jon might be lonely. Whenever he came over to her house, it had always seemed like he fit in better with her siblings than she did herself. Arya more than once had teased that she’d rather have Jon for a brother than her as a sister. But maybe Jon was looking for a connection, just like she was.

“Sansa?”

“Yeah?” she replied, shaken out of her reverie.

“Could you maybe not tell anyone just yet what I told you—about the army, I mean. I don’t really want everyone to know yet. Especially not Robb.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” And she really wouldn’t. Her time with Jon was too precious to tell anyone else about in great detail.

Jon sighed. “Thanks.” He smiled. “I actually feel a lot better, having told you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“What do you want to do? After high school?”

Sansa nibbled on a cookie as she thought. It was not a question she normally was asked, seeing as she was just a freshman, but that wasn’t something she wanted to remind Jon of. “I used to think I’d want to go South. Study fashion or business. But I think I might stay up here. My heart belongs to the North, I think.”

“Well, certainly your cookies do.”

Sansa laughed and fidgeted nervously with the rest of the cookie she was holding. “And I think I’d like to be a mom—not anytime soon. Just, you know, some day. I could sew them Halloween costumes and bake them wolf cookies.”

“I can see that.”

“Yeah?”

Jon smiled. “Yeah.” His voice grew stern. “Just not any time soon.”  

“Yes, Dad,” muttered Sansa, rolling her eyes.

Jon frowned. “It’s late. I should get you home.”

Sansa didn’t want to leave Jon’s car. Given that the next week was Thanksgiving, the reservation would be closed and they wouldn’t have any alone time. “Just a few more minutes? One more song?” she pled, using the full force of her baby blues.

Jon smiled indulgently. “One more song,” he agreed with a sigh. “I’m not very good at saying ‘no’ to you.”

“Good.”  


	5. Time with Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the fluffiest chapter to date!

It was disappointing not to spend time with Jon over the holiday weekend, but Sansa was so exhausted by Friday night that she fell asleep on the couch before the normal time they would have left for the reservation.  
  
She’d been busy all week studying for a math exam, helping to clean the house, sewing bonnets for the upcoming school play, and being her mom’s sous chef for Thanksgiving meal preparations that her body had just quit on her.  
  
Together, they made enough food for twenty: the seven of the immediate family, her uncles Benjen and Edmure, her cousin Robin, aunt Lysa and creepy step-uncle Petyr, grandfather Hoster, great aunt Nan, second cousins Lyanna and Hodor, and their family friends Luwin, Yohn, Rodrik, and Jory.  
  
Her mom handled the turkey, stuffing, yams, and gravy. Sansa was in charge of the cranberry sauce, greenbean casserole, and mashed potatoes. Plus she baked all the pies (six different variations this year: pumpkin, cherry, apple, chocolate crème, bourbon-pecan, and pear crumb) and chopped all the onions and celery for her mom to make things easier.  
  
She would have liked to sleep for days after all the dishes were washed and put away, but she didn’t want to miss all the early-morning Black Friday sales. She forced Robb to drive her to the mall the next morning at five. She got half the presents she needed for Christmas just from the outdoor sporting goods store, a fantastic set of cutting shears, half-priced antique lace, and more thread at the craft store, expensive shampoo and conditioner at 60 percent off, and a pair of pale pink kitten heels from Anthropologie she just couldn’t walk away from. Robb, in turn, got a girl’s number, and free breakfast on Sansa, so he wasn’t as crabby on the way home as he’d been on the way there.  
  
Still, even a sleepy Sansa was a thinking-about-Jon Sansa.   
  
Jon’s birthday was in less than three weeks, just a few days before Christmas, and Sansa had been stressing out about what to get him. She’d never given a boy she wasn’t related to a proper present before. She wanted to make him something, as she always thought handmade gifts were the most personal and meaningful. But she wasn’t sure what it should be.  
  
Eventually, she realized that Jon didn’t have a heavy enough winter jacket, particularly if he was going to be going even further north to the army base. Sansa was being genuine when she told Jon she thought he’d make a great soldier, but she was worried. The men who were stationed at Castle Black always looked so broken when they came back home—if they came back home. Sansa didn’t want to tell Jon not to go, not if being a soldier was his dream. But she did want him to take care and stay warm.

So she went with Margaery to the fancy vintage shops and found a lovely black leather jacket that looked like it would fit him—only she lied and told Margaery it was for her brother.  
  
Sansa ripped out the seams inside and gave it a whole new lining so that way it would have better insulation. She polished the leather and made sure all the buckles shone. Along the collar and the cuffs, she added little wolves, stitched in black. They weren’t noticeable, unless you looked closely, but Sansa wanted the jacket to remind him of the reservation—of Ghost, of the North, of home—of her.  
  
It was silly, and she strained her eyes trying to make out the black thread patterns on black fabric. But she was determined that the wolves would be there and that the stitching would get done on time. In addition to all the usual scarves and gloves she knitted at this time of year. She made some for Jon and his mom, as well, with snowflakes on them.  
  
When the week of Jon’s birthday finally came, she met him in the driveway with her arms full of gift bags and a case of nerves.  
  
“What’s that?” Jon asked as he took the bags from her so she could get into the car. “These are heavy. Are you playing Sansa Claus tonight?”  
  
Sansa normally would have rolled her eyes at the tired nickname, but she was too keyed up. “It’s for you. For your birthday. And well, there’s Christmas stuff too—for you and your mom—and something for Mr. Mormont and Ghost, of course.”  
  
Jon looked down at the bags. “You got me a birthday present?” he asked, sounding stunned.  
  
“Well, it’s a big one, eighteen, and all. And friends give each other birthday presents and we’re...friends, right?”  
  
Jon gazed at her with his gentle gray eyes. “Of course.”  
  
He handed her the bags back and then hopped into his side of the car. “Should I open it now? Or do you want me to wait?”  
  
“Wait,” Sansa told him. She didn’t want it to happen in her driveway, where any member of her family could interrupt them. “Till we get to the reservation.”  
  
“Okay.” Jon turned on the radio and pulled out of the Stark driveway. “Can I guess what it is?”  
  
Sansa laughed at his enthusiasm, like a little boy on Christmas morning. She’d never seen Jon so giddy. “You can, but I don’t think you’ll guess it.”  
  
“Is it smaller than a bread box?” he asked.

“What kind of bread?”

“Pumpernickel.”

Sansa laughed, and Jon kept her laughing until they arrived. When he finally put the car in park, he turned to her. “Please. The suspense is killing me.”  
  
Sansa sighed with feigned annoyance but then grinned. “Okay, open this first.” She handed him one of the bags.   
  
Jon smiled as he peeked his head inside. “Cookies.”   
  
“The first box is for you and your mom, a collection of various Christmas staples: sugar, chocolate chip, M&M, peanut butter, pecan snowballs, jam thumbprints. The other is just for you. They’re gingersnaps.”  
  
“My favorite,” said Jon with a smile.  
  
“Your favorite,” Sansa agreed. She handed him another bag. “These are for Christmas.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we do Christmas after birthday, since that’s the chronological order?”  
  
“No,” Sansa replied decisively. “Gifts should always be ordered by how good they are.”  
  
“Well, then you’ve already screwed up, because your cookies are better than anything.”  
  
“Shush, open this.”  
  
Jon dutifully opened the bag and took out the scarves and mittens she’d knitted.   
  
“They’re for you and your mom.”  
  
“They have little snowflakes on them.”  
  
“Yeah, cause you’re the Snows. Is that silly?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.   
  
“No, it’s perfect. My mom will love them. I can’t wait to show her.”  
  
Her smile returned. “Okay, and here’s the last thing. For your birthday. I wasn’t sure what to get you, so I ended up making something—not from complete scratch—but, well, you’ll see—and if you don’t like it—"  
  
“Of course I’ll like it—“  
  
“But if you don’t—"  
  
Jon brought his finger to her lips and stunned her into silence. “Why don’t I open it, hmm? Before you decide I must not like it?”  
  
Sansa nodded, frozen by the feeling of his skin on her lips.   
  
Jon removed his hand and moved his attention to the gift bag in front of him. He took his care removing the tissue paper and pulling the jacket out of the bag. He raised it up to his eyes, his mouth agape. “What? You—you made this?”  
  
Sansa blushed. “I retailored it. It’s vintage but in really good condition. I redid the whole lining to make it warmer—you know, for when you go up north. Cause I noticed your coat isn’t that warm. There’s little wolf decorations on the collar and the cuffs. They’re in black so they’re not too noticeable. Do you like it?”  
  
“I love it.” Jon slipped off his jacket and pulled the new one on. It fit well in the shoulders, just as Sansa hoped it would, with a little extra room for him to grow. He inspected the details on the cuffs. “I like the wolf bits. They look like Ghost!”  
  
“That’s what I was going for.”  
  
“Thank you, Sansa. Honestly, no one has given me a gift as nice as this before. I’m going to wear this all winter. Maybe even in the summers too.”  
  
She laughed. “You’ll die of heat.”  
  
“It’ll be worth it.”  
  
He cradled her face in his hands as his mouth swooped down to place a soft kiss on her forehead. “Really, Sansa, thank you,” he whispered softly to her.  
  
“You’re welcome,” she breathed back.  
  
Job pulled away, running a hand through his curls and giving Sansa a chance to admire how well the jacket fit him. “I, uh, got you something too.”  
  
“What? Why? It’s not my birthday.”  
  
“But it is Christmas—and I probably won’t see you again—alone at least—til after.”  
  
Sansa smiled, her heart already full just from the idea he thought to get her something.   
  
“It’s not wrapped up fancy like yours were. I didn’t know we’d be exchanging gifts tonight.”  
  
“That’s all right.”  
  
“They’re in the glove compartment.”  
  
“They’re?”  
  
“Yeah,” murmured Jon, his ears going red. “There’s two things.”  
  
“You didn’t have to—“  
  
Jon leaned over and opened the glove compartment. He tossed a brown paper bag into her lap. “And you didn’t have to either, and look at this jacket. It’s amazing—you’re amazing.” He gave her a smile. “C’mon, Sansa, just open it.”  
  
She took her time smoothing out the bag’s creases and reaching inside. First, she found a piece of plastic and pulled it out. It was a CD case.   
  
“It’s a mixtape—of the songs we listen to in the car. Mostly the Cure—but there’s a few others in there. The ones you tend to mouth the words to.”  
  
Sansa flipped the cd case over to see Jon’s messy handwriting; he’d listed the songs he’d included along with the artists’ names. “You made me a mixtape?” she asked incredulously.  
  
“Is it lame?”  
  
She shook her head, feeling slightly overwhelmed by how adorable the gift was—how adorable Jon was. “No—the opposite. It’s so sweet. I love it. Thank you.”  
  
Jon smiled, the anxiety leaving his eyes. “You’re welcome. There’s one more.”  
  
Sansa reached into the paper bag again. Her fingers felt plastic with something sharp but smooth underneath. Curious, she pulled it out. She found various crystal beads in blues, grays, white, purple, and green.  
  
“They’re beads,” Jon explained.   
  
“They’re gorgeous.”  
  
“I thought you might be able to make something out of them—not for anyone else this time, but for you. See the gray ones? They reminded me of the color of Lady’s fur.”  
  
Tears collected in her eyes. She reached over and hugged him, flinging her arms around his neck, fingers just brushing against his curls, her nose going straight to his neck. “Thank you, Jon.”  
  
She felt Jon’s hands tentatively move to her back, getting tangled up in her long hair. “You’re welcome, Sansa,” he whispered with his cheek resting against the top of her head.

She wished the hug had lasted longer, but they needed to get into the reservation before it closed to see Ghost.  
  
Mr. Mormont appreciated that scarf Sansa had knitted him, and Ghost seemed to tolerate the red and green bandana she made to go around his neck.   
  
She asked Mr. Mormont to take a picture of her, Jon, and Ghost. And the bandana stayed on for only a few minutes more. Luckily, Ghost seemed to enjoy the moose-flavored treats Sansa made him more.  
  
When they were back in the car, Jon asked to see the photo. They were crouched down, both hugging Ghost. Sansa was laughing as Ghost sniffed at her hat, and Jon, in his new leather jacket, was smiling softly at them both.   
  
“Could you send that to me?”  
  
“Of course.” Sansa had Jon’s number—had had it for years— but they rarely texted. hated the acronyms, bad grammar, and stiltedness of talking through texts—or worse, through emojis. Once, a boy from school had sent her a “u up” text, followed by several pictures of his dick, and Sansa was appalled. Where was romance? Where was common decency? Sansa knew Jon would never send her anything so crass, but she preferred phone calls or handwritten letters to texts.

And, moreover, she had a general rule of not contacting Jon too much throughout the week, lest she be too much of a bother to him.  
“I’d really like to spend more time together tonight, but I promised my mom I’d get home. She wants to go get a tree tonight before all the good ones are gone.”  
  
“That’s fine,” said Sansa, doing her best to hide her disappointment.  
  
“But maybe—next rime—would you like to go to the diner?”  
  
“Sure! Their takeout is always quick.”  
  
“No, I mean inside—dinner in a restaurant, not a parking lot—would you like that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Jon grinned. “Great. So next time—dinner.”

Sansa beamed. “Next time—dinner,” she repeated.  
  
  
  
  



	6. Time with Robb

Sansa listened to the mixtape Jon made her the entire next week while everyone else was blasting Christmas music. The music made her happy, made her think of time spent in the car with him, and that kiss he had placed on her forehead. She had not been expecting that; she had not expected him to invite her to eat at the diner with him either—where anyone from school might see them together.  
  
The prospect excited her. As much as Sansa loved spending time alone with Jon, she was looking forward to getting out of dark parking lots and into brightly lit public spaces with him. She could spend hours thinking about what it would be like to hold his hand as they walked around town or share a plate of fries where anyone could see.   
  
Though, she was quite all right with going back into Jon’s car and spending more time in dark parking lots with him afterward. Sansa had been kissed before, but both times had been fairly lackluster. The first—the result of a game of Spin-the-Bottle—ended before it really began. Loras, Margaery’s older brother, was handsome, but he did no more than peck her lips and then pat her on the head. Later, she found out he had a boyfriend.  
  
The other kiss was longer but far less enjoyable. Joffrey Baratheon, her short-lived crush back in the sixth grade. He had wormy lips and had yanked her hair so hard it hurt. Sansa had not bothered to try kissing him again. She avoided him whenever she could.  
  
But she had a feeling that Jon kissing her would be different—better—welcome. He wouldn’t take advantage of her; he’d be soft and gentle. Maybe he’d cradle her face in his hands like he’d done the week before. Maybe he’d play with her hair the way she wished to play with his. Maybe he’d kiss her slow and take his time, the way she’d always wanted to be kissed by him.  
  
For Christmas, Sansa had received a beautiful pale pink cashmere sweater from her parents. It was gorgeous, too much for dinner at the local diner—and definitely too much for the wolf reservation. But she wanted to wear it anyway. Just in case Jon did kiss her. So when she remembered her first _good_ kiss, she could look back and smile thinking about the pretty sweater she had worn just for him.  
  
She spent extra time on her hair, brushing it until it shone and then braiding certain pieces and pulling them back and away from her face.  
  
She put on the pearl earrings she’d gotten for her last birthday and swiped a clear gloss onto her lips to make them stand out, while still looking natural. She even snuck into her parents’ room and dabbed some of her mom’s perfume on—at the wrists, her neck, and behind her ears, as she had always seen her mom do.  
  
When she went downstairs to go grab the brownies she made Jon—a necessary break after hours upon hours of baking Christmas cookies—she spotted Robb shoving peanut butter crackers into his mouth.   
  
“Oh, hey,” she greeted him. “I thought you had a date with that girl tonight—Alysane?”  
  
Robb pouted. “She cancelled on me. Last minute. Some bullshit line about a bear getting loose in her backyard. Tonight’s a major bust. Arya’s got another fencing competition—Mom and Dad already took Bran and Rickon to go watch.”  
  
“I’m sorry. Maybe Theon—?”  
  
“Theon’s out of town. He and Yara went on some kind of family ice fishing retreat.”  
  
Sansa laughed. “Something tells me that’s not going to go well for Theon.”  
  
“No,” Robb agreed, still sounding down. “Hey!” he exclaimed, suddenly much more chipper. “I’ll come with you to the wolf reservation. I haven’t seen Grey Wind in a couple of months, and Jon’s already playing chauffeur anyway.”  
  
Sansa’s stomach sank. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t rather have the tv all to yourself?”  
  
Robb shook his head. “Nah, let’s go. I’m sure Jon will be glad to have a little more testosterone in the car.”  
  
Sansa nodded and grabbed the brownies off the counter.  
  
“Who are those for?” Robb grabbed them and popped the lid open to steal a brownie. He studied her as he chewed. “How come you’re all dressed up? Do you have plans for after?”  
  
“I’m, uh, well—“  
  
“I think I hear Jon’s car. C’mon.”  
  
Robb tossed Sansa her coat from the closet, and she followed him to the driveway. They made their way out just as Jon got out of the car.  
  
He stopped in his tracks. “Robb.”  
  
“Oh, hey man! Why’d you get out of the car? I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but still.” He opened up the container of brownies and offered them to Jon. “Look what Sansa made. She got all dressed up, too. I think she was trying to weasel you into dropping her off at some boy’s house.”  
  
Jon shook his head at the proffered brownies. “No thanks.” He glanced at Sansa, his eyes difficult to read, and then turned back to Robb. “What are you doing still here? I thought you had a date tonight.”

“Alysane bailed on me,” Robb lamented.

“Oh,” replied Jon, surprised. “Sorry.”

Robb shrugged. “There are more fish out there for me when I’m ready to drop another line. I figure I’d tag along with you tonight. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. Figured you could use a night out with a friend.” He patted Jon on the back, strolled up to the car, and then perched himself in the front passenger seat.

Sansa frowned, watching him. She knew Robb didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, and it wasn’t exactly like she and Jon were publicizing their budding relationship. If anything, she’d done everything she could to make sure that her family knew next to nothing about what she and Jon did together on Friday nights.

But still, it hurt to feel like some stuck-up princess that Jon put up with and drove around rather than his friend.

Her eyes welled up with tears she didn’t want Jon to see. So she made her way to the car and sat in the backseat.  

Jon got in a few seconds after her and put the keys in the ignition.

“New jacket?” Robb asked as Jon pulled out of the driveway.

Jon nodded.

“It looks good on you. The black leather is a bit obvious, though, with that trademark pout of yours, Snow. Very James Dean.”

Sansa bit her lip; her intention hadn’t been to make Jon look like a cliché.  

“Don’t mess with a classic, Stark.”

Jon’s eyes found Sansa in the rearview mirror. Wordlessly, he seemed to be trying to reassure her. She sent him a slight smile and hoped he didn’t notice her fidgeting hands.

“So what did you think the Direwolves’ chances are for the Stanley Cup this year?”

Robb chattered away about hockey for the rest of the car drive, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Sansa hadn’t spoken and Jon responded mostly with monosyllabic grunts.

When they reached the reservation parking lot, Sansa let out a breath she didn’t realized she’d been holding during the ride.

She followed two paces behind Jon and Robb. Once inside, Robb announced he was going to find Grey Wind, and Sansa waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Jon.

“I didn’t invite him!” she all but screeched.

“I know.”

“I don’t want him here.”

“I can tell.”

“He just steamrolled his way in.”

“He does that sometimes.” Jon smiled softly at her and cupped her face with his hand. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied meekly.

“Are you okay?”

Sansa nodded. “I just—we were going to—"

“We don’t have to go out after. We can do it another time. All right?”  

She sighed. “Yeah.”

Jon pulled her in for a hug. “Don’t stress. I owe you dinner. I won’t forget.”

Sansa closed her eyes and let herself get momentarily lost in Jon’s scent, the feel of his arms around her waist, and the warmth of his body against hers.

“Hey!”

Their hug ended too soon when Jon abruptly pulled back and took two large steps away from her.

Robb was back and staring at Jon curiously. “Um, hey, so they have to give Grey Wind some medicine so no visitors tonight.”

“Shame,” Jon muttered.

“Yeah, it is. But I figured I’d meet this Ghost you two keep coming back to visit.”

Sansa plastered a smile to her face. “Sure. Ghost loves visitors.”  

Robb threw an arm around her shoulder. “Lead the way, Sansy Pants.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they were back in her driveway, Sansa was relieved. Their visit with Ghost was awkward, to put it mildly. Ghost was his usual sweet self, but Robb was being a bit of an ass. He kept calling Sansa annoying pet names and making side comments about how young and prissy she was in between feeding Ghost pieces of moose. Part of her wished that Ghost would bite his arm off.

She felt embarrassed at being teased, upset that there was some truth to the things he was saying about how she wasn’t exactly the most obvious fit for Jon, which played into her own insecurities about her crush, and angry that Robb had ruined what was supposed to have been her first quasi-date with Jon and her new sweater’s first-good-kiss potential.

 But even though all she really wanted to do was climb into her bed and maybe have a good cry, she was deeply annoyed when Robb told her to head inside because he wanted to chat alone with Jon.

She found Jon’s eyes in the rearview.

“Are you sure, man? It’s late, and my mom—”

“It’ll be just a couple of minutes. Meet you inside, sis.” Robb shoved the container of brownies at her. “Take those with you.”

Sansa exited the car, feeling like there was little else she could do. As she made her way up the drive, she turned back to look at Jon, hoping to catch his eye.

But he wasn’t looking anywhere near her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is where the angst is going to kick in. There will be a happy ending! But things are going to get much worse before they get better. Besos!


	7. Time with Much Needed Hugs

Sansa couldn’t show how mad she was at Robb without revealing her feelings for Jon—though she strongly suspected he already knew. That’s why he’d made her get out of the car. It was so like him to turn to Jon rather than her—to assume her feelings on the subject didn’t matter and that he knew better because he was older—and a boy.

 

He’d been giving her space over the last few days—to calm down, maybe, or forgive him, more likely. Robb did a lot of boneheaded things, but he didn’t like confrontation or being disliked. He had a habit of screwing up and then begging forgiveness, particularly with their mom, who had a soft spot for him.

 

The next week when Robb, unbidden, brought Sansa a mug of hot chocolate after dinner, she gave him a smile but did not forgive him. That wouldn’t happen until she assessed the situation more fully. 

 

Sansa vacillated between being convinced her relationship with Jon was ruined and fretting over what to do with her hands when he finally kissed her. She hoped that Jon wasn’t too spooked by Robb and that maybe they’d get a chance to go out to dinner.

 

New Year’s Eve had come and gone without a sighting of him. Arya said that he and his mom had taken a trip together up north for a couple of days. Before she knew it, it was time to go back to school.

 

She hadn’t heard from Jon since the Friday before, but that wasn’t that unusual for them. 

 

What was unusual was that on Wednesday afternoon after her last class of the day, Jon was waiting for her at her locker.

 

Clutching her books more tightly to her chest, Sansa shooed away her friend Myranda, who was giggling and making her eyebrows dance, and walked up to her locker.

 

At their high school, students of each class had lockers on different floors. Seniors on the ground level, juniors and then sophomores on the second and third floors, and freshmen were housed in the the basement. While some of the elective courses like home economics and tv production were also housed in the basement, it was rare to see a senior down there. Robb never visited her. Whenever they drove back from school together, he always insisted that she meet him at his locker.

 

Sansa’s heart was hammering in her chest. “Hi,” she greeted him, doing her best not to sound too eager.

 

“Hey.”

 

“What—what are you doing down here?”

 

“I came to see you. I thought we should talk.”

 

Sansa began to spin her lock combination. She didn’t like the look in his eyes and wanted to stall. “What about?”

 

“Sansa, I—“ 

 

She shoved her books into her locker and turned to look at him. 

 

“What is it, Jon? I don’t know what Robb said to you, but whatever it was, just forget it. I know he’s my big brother, but he can be a bit of an idiot sometimes. It doesn’t matter. Whatever he said, it won’t change things for me.”

 

“Sansa, it’s not about Robb.”

 

Relief swept through her. But Jon’s eyes still looked troubled.

 

“It’s about Friday. I—I can’t take you to the reservation. I’m going to a meeting for young people who want to join the armed forces. My mom thinks it’s a good idea. They give you information, put you in touch with support and mentoring groups. Let you know more about the different branches. And they have stuff for parents, too.”

 

Sansa pulled out her backpack and closed her locker. “I think your mom’s right. All the army stuff is new. It’ll be good to meet some people and learn more about it before you enlist.” She gave him a smile. “And we can go the week after. Ghost will understand.”

 

Jon sighed. “That’s the thing. The group meets every Friday night. And with work and hockey and school and not wanting to leave my mom alone—“

 

“You don’t have another free night to spend with me.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Not as sorry as Sansa felt. She blinked quickly, to try to stem the tears from building. She didn’t want to cry—not at school—not in front of Jon.

 

She sniffed. “Well, thanks for telling me,” she said with a fake cheery smile. “I hope your meeting goes well.”

 

“Sansa—I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—we’ll still be friends—“

 

She nodded. A month ago, she would have been thrilled to hear that Jon thought they were friends and had come to the basement just to see her. Now, the word felt like a goodbye.

 

“Of course,” she replied, the fake grin still in place. She swung her backpack onto her shoulders. “Well, I have to get going—the bus—“

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking a step back. 

 

Sansa scooted past him, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

 

“Sansa?” Jon called out.

 

She turned around. “Yeah?”

 

“Hockey doesn’t start for another 45 minutes. If we’re fast, I can drive you home.”

 

 

The drive didn’t take long, and they were both quiet. Sansa’s head was buzzing with unasked questions. Jon seemed preoccupied, as well. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was downturned in a frown. When they pulled up her driveway, Jon turned off the car and went to open her door for her. 

 

When she got out of the car, he inched forward, as though to give her a hug, but then took a step back. He let out a sigh. “Take care, Sansa.”

 

She turned so he couldn’t see her face. “Thanks for the ride.”

 

 

 

That Friday night, Robb went to go take a new girl out on a date, Bran had a chess club event, and her parents and Rickon were out at Arya’s fencing match. Sansa could have asked to join them, but she felt she just needed some time alone.

 

She was on the couch, with her favorite series “A Dance with Dragons” playing, in her most comfortable pajamas, her hair in a messy top knot—trying not to be miserable and utterly failing.

 

About fifteen minutes into the first part, she heard someone enter the house. Startled, she turned to see her father looking around the kitchen. 

 

Sansa got up and walked over to him. “What’d you forget?”

 

“The tickets,” Ned explained sheepishly. 

 

Sansa plucked them off the family bulletin board. “Here you go.”

 

Ned sighed with relief. “Thank you.” He looked at her pajamas and frowned. “Why are you still home? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the reservation by now?”

 

“Jon can’t take me. He’s going to be busy now on Friday nights.”

 

Ned gave her a knowing smile. “Does this mean I won’t have to keep buying four pounds of butter every week?”

 

Sansa let out an unexpected laugh that morphed into a sob as it left her throat. She thought she’d been so clever, but of course he’d seen right through her. 

 

She could not hold back the tears from slipping down her cheeks. 

 

Ned wrapped her up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, Sansa. It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

 

“No, it’s not,” she wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t get the words out. She just hugged him tighter as her tears continued to fall.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback last chapter! I’m glad Robb annoyed you just as much as he annoyed Sansa. I know this was another sad chapter. Ned dad hugs to you all!


	8. Time with Ned

Sansa didn’t go back to the wolf reservation for over two months. Instead, she made plans with Mya and Myranda, went to drama practice to help with costumes, and cheered Arya on at her fencing competitions.

 

When she did go back, it was her father who offered to drive her. They went on a Sunday afternoon, and Arya tagged along, as well.

 

Arya chattered on about the highlights from her last fencing match and what to expect in her next competition from the back seat. Sansa stayed quiet, lost in thought, trying to chase away her sad feelings and growing anxiety. When they arrived at the reservation, Arya disappeared within the first ten seconds, off to find Nymeria.

 

Ned wrapped his arm around Sansa. “Why don’t you show me your pup?”

 

Sansa gave him a smile and led the way. When they reached the pen, she spotted Ghost, who seemed to have grown over double in size since she’d last seen him. “He’s not really a pup anymore,” she observed.

 

“Ned! Is that you? How are you doing, old friend?” 

 

Sansa watched as Mr. Mormont embraces her father and slapped him on the back. 

 

“Finally come to see how your money’s being used, eh?”

 

Ned laughed. “Trust me, these checks I am happy to write, Mormont. Tell me how this beast is getting on.”

 

“Your girl has a better idea than me,” Mormont told him, with his eyes on Sansa. “Though I haven’t seen her in a while. Ghost has missed you, Sansa. Both you and Jon. I’ve missed you, too, if I’m being honest. It was always nice to see you kids. Not many folk who are so caring around the wolves as you. Not many visitors who go through the trouble of making an old bear Christmas presents neither.”

 

Sansa gave her best attempt at a smile. “I missed you both too.” She walked into the pen, and Ghost all but tackled her. Sansa crouched down to rub behind his ears. She threw her arms around his warm fur, and held him close. “Oh, I missed you, my sweet boy.”

 

Ned and Mormont continued to talk as Sansa scratched Ghost’s belly and brushed his coat, until Mormont had to go check on another wolf and Ned joined them. He ran his fingers through Ghost’s fur.

 

They were quiet for a few minutes, petting Ghost and laughing at his lolling tongue. 

 

“He’s a loyal beast,” Ned said softly. “When Lady died, you wouldn’t go near wolves for months. Just the mention of them made you cry. I felt like it was my fault for bringing you here, only to have it bring you so much pain.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Dad,” Sansa told him, her eyes glistening. “Lady was sick.” And it was horrible when she died, like a part of Sansa had died with her. But somehow she survived it, and maybe Lady’s spirit stayed with her—and help her survive now. “I’m glad I got to spend time with her when I did.”

 

Ned wrapped his arm around her. “I don’t need to know all the details about what happened between you and Jon. I know that the two of you developed a bond, and I know you’ve seemed sad ever since you stopped coming here with him. But I just want you to know, you don’t need Jon to spend time with wolves, Sansa. They’ll always be a part of who you are.” He kissed the crown of her head.

 

“D—do you think we could come back next week?”

 

“Sure.”

 

 

They visited Ghost together regularly, though not on any fixed day, given her Dad’s duties at work, their family’s busy schedule, and Sansa’s own responsibilities. 

 

A couple of months later, fitting in a visit to the reservation with her dad was starting to feel like part of the routine—as was not seeing Jon.

 

He hadn’t disappeared completely. She still saw him sometimes at school and a couple of times around town. He even swung by the house to meet Robb, though he never stayed for dinner anymore. He was always polite, always said hello. But their interactions were stilted, as though the months of sitting in his car together every week had never happened. 

 

Sansa would be lying to herself if she said that she’d forgotten a moment of that time. It hurt deeply that he seemed so keen on creating a distance between them. But she’d already cried her tears. And there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on whatever it was they shared now that it was over. 

 

She tried not to think too much on Jon, but some days it felt like she was just waiting to see a glimpse of his face or hear someone mention his name.

 

One night after dinner, Sansa took extra time drying the dishes so she could eavesdrop on a conversation Robb and Theon were having in the other room. As Jon no longer came round for dinner, Theon was taking his place—a poor consolation prize, Sansa felt. Theon wasn’t such a bad guy, but he was crass and a giant perv. She could hear him describing some girl in graphic detail.

 

Ordinarily, Sansa would try to tune Theon out when he did this, but she’d heard him mention Jon’s name. So instead she strained her ears as hard as she could.

 

“Are you sure she’s 21?”

 

“Yeah, man! I bet she’d buy us some booze if we paid her.”

 

“But why would she be hanging out with Jon if she’s 21?”

 

“I told you. He said they met at those meetings he goes to for the army.”

 

Sansa didn’t realize Jon had told Robb or Theon about his plans. She supposed that meant he must have decided to really do it. The revelation made her drop her dish towel, and in her haste to pick it up, Sansa missed whatever Robb had replied.

 

Theon was speaking again when she listened in again. “You should have seen her, Robb. Gods, Jon’s such a lucky bastard.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I meet her. What’d you say her name was again?”

 

“Ygritte.” 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback from last chapter!! As I’ve said, things are going to get worse before they get better—but they will!!


	9. Time with Hodor

Sansa didn’t have to wonder about who this Ygritte was for long; she met her only a week after she overheard Theon telling Robb about her—at a Hodor block party.  
  
Everyone in Winterfell knew Hodor. He was one of the most beloved residents. Almost seven feet tall, Hodor was perhaps the friendliest person Sansa had ever met. After Bran’s accident, Hodor would visit him regularly in the hospital and at rehab; he’d wanted Bran to know that living with a disability wasn’t the end of life but the start of a new one. Hodor had been in an accident as a child that had hindered his ability to form speech. But he still loved to communicate with people—just with music instead of words. Hodor would walk around town with a boom box; he always knew just what song to play to make you smile and brighten your day. In the last few years, he’d started DJing and would throw block parties for his neighbors during the summer months.   
  
Toward the end of May, a week and a half before Robb’s graduation, word spread that Hodor was going to be throwing a party, the first of the year, for Memorial Day. The entire Stark family showed up. Rickon brought giant bubble wands, and Arya drew face paint—war paint really—on anyone who wanted it. Bran sat in his wheelchair beside Hodor and explained any requests people had to him and made announcements on the loud speakers. Robb and her father helped with barbecuing, and Sansa and her mother made all sorts of treats—everything but cookies.   
  
The day was sunny but not too hot, and everyone enjoyed Hodor’s impeccable music selection. Their neighbors the Karstarks brought chalk, and Sansa was proud of the wolf drawings she and her siblings etched onto the pavement. She drew both Ghost and Lady with hearts all around.  
  
Around dusk, families with children started to leave, and the Starks packed up what they’d brought and headed home. But as soon as they got in the door, Robb was ready to go back out.  
  
“And just where do you think you’re going, young man?” Catelyn asked. “You’re not a high school grad yet, and it’s still a school night.”  
  
“Theon heard that Hodor is going to keep playing music at the Glovers’ house. C’mon, Mom. We’re not doing anything important at school tomorrow, and I’ll be back before midnight.”  
  
Catelyn gave him a hard look but then sighed. “Fine, but absolutely no drinking—“  
  
“Of course!”  
  
“And you’ll be back here by 11:30—“  
  
“That’s reasonable.”  
  
“—and you’re taking Sansa with you.”  
  
“Sansa?”   
  
Catelyn nodded. “She’ll make sure you behave—you and Theon.” She turned to Sansa. “Unless you don’t want to go, of course.”  
  
Sansa looked at Robb’s pleading eyes. She’d never been to a Hodor house party before and was intrigued by what it’d be like. She’d already done all her homework for the next day, and if it was at the Glovers’, there was a good chance Mya and Myranda would be there.  
  
“I’ll go,” she announced. “But you need to give me ten minutes to change.”  
  
Robb groaned.  
  
“Make it twenty,” Catelyn amended. “Want help with your hair?” Her mom loved to do her hair for her.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Sansa chose her outfit carefully: a cream skirt that hit a couple of inches above her knees, paired with a light blue top with tulip sleeves and tan wedges.  
  
“You look very pretty,” Catelyn complimented her when she brought her a brush and a hair tie.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Fish tail?”  
  
“Sounds good.” Her mom did those the best.  
  
“You really don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want, Sansa.”  
  
“No, I’ll go. I think it’ll be fun.”  
  
Cat smiled and took hold of Sansa’s chin. “You deserve some more of that. And maybe you’ll talk to some cute boys.”

“Mom,” Sansa whined.

“Just saying,” Cat teased. “No one can resist my fish tail. How do you think I snagged your father?”  
  
They made Robb wait a little longer than twenty minutes. Her mom let her use her perfume, and Sansa added eyeliner to her mascara and a fresh coat of pink gloss to her lips.  
  
“About time,” Robb huffed when Sansa emerged.   
  
Ned gave him a look, and Robb sighed. “You look nice, Sansa. Can we go now?”  
  
“Be back by 11:30!” Cat yelled as they left. “And no drinking!”  
  
The few blocks to the Glovers’ house didn’t take long, and they parted ways once Sansa wandered through the house. She saw many people she recognized from school, but it was difficult to talk to any of them given how loud the music was. Eventually, she found Myranda, who more fell into her arms than embraced her.  
  
“Hey—have you been drinking?”  
  
“Yes!” Myranda shouted cheerfully, though Sansa could barely hear her over the sound of the bass from whatever track Hodor was playing.   
  
“Let’s get you some water. Is Mya here?”  
  
“Mya? Maybe. I think I lost her.”  
  
Sansa was torn between amusement and annoyance. She helped her friend along as they sought out the kitchen or at least a bathroom.  
  
Despite Myranda’s clumsiness, they eventually made it to the kitchen, but Sansa stopped dead in her tracks as soon as she made it through the doorway.  
  
Jon Snow was in the kitchen, and he was not alone. Ygritte was next to him, or more specifically, Ygritte was as close to him as one could be while still standing up.   
  
She hadn’t considered that Ygritte might have red hair. The information came as a blow, and Sansa could not help but to immediately compare it to her own. Hers was shorter than Sansa’s, and a brighter shade, as well. It looked messy, as though it had been combed through with fingers repeatedly. There was something carefree about it—it showed that Ygritte wasn’t the type of girl to spend twenty minutes getting ready.  


Once Sansa started making comparisons, she couldn’t stop.

  
Unlike Sansa, who’d always been called statuesque on account of how tall she was, Ygritte was petite—not only on the shorter side but also small-boned. She looked small next to Jon, who himself wasn’t that big of a guy. She did have muscle, though—something Sansa had never really developed.

Sansa couldn’t quite make out the details of her angular face, but she noticed her teasing smile contained slightly crooked teeth. She was wearing dark blood red lipstick and a black choker. She wore cut-off denim shorts, a black bralette, an open flannel over top, and black combat boots.   
  
Sansa suddenly felt extremely overdressed, as though she had come from Church. What a stupid girl she’d been to wear cream and powder blue to a party like this.   
  
Sansa stared at the way Ygritte trailed her fingers up Jon’s face and into his hair. She watched, dumbstruck, as Ygritte whispered something in Jon’s ear and then began to kiss him. Fiercely.  
  
Sansa’s stomach plummeted.   
  
As she stood frozen, watching them kiss with sloppy mouths, she vaguely recalled that she had once fretted about what she’d do with her hands should Jon have ever kissed her. Ygritte seemed to have no such concerns; one hand was in Jon’s hair, and the other seemed to be inching down his pants. 

Beside her, she heard guys whistling at them. “Take him to the cave!” one of them shouted. “The cave!” another repeated.

“Ah, no! His tiny pecker wouldn’t know what to do with her in the cave!” an even louder voice yelled.

That caught Ygritte’s attention. She turned back to them and rolled her eyes. “Oh shut it, Tormund. Just cause you couldn’t find a woman’s clit if your life depended on it, doesn’t mean all men can’t.” She grinned at Jon. “He’s a proper lover, Jon Snow. Knows what to do with his tongue.” Ygritte held her fingers in a ‘V’ shape up to her lips and slipped her tongue through them.

It took Sansa a second to put together what she was suggesting, and when she finally did understand, her face burned red. She stumbled, and the movement drew attention.

With horror, Sansa realized that Jon had noticed her in the doorway. Unable to look away from him, she watched as his expression turned sheepish, and his face grew red.

“Sansa!” he called to her.

But Sansa could not bear to look at him any longer, for when he stepped toward her into the light she noticed for the first time that Jon was wearing the leather jacket she had made him.

She left Myranda and ran from the room. She searched through the house until she found Robb.

“Hey, what’s—” he stopped when he saw her face. “Sansa, you’re crying. What happened?”

She reached up to touch her face, and sure enough, there were tears rolling down her cheeks. “Can we go please?”

“Of course we can.” He wrapped his arm around her. “Do you want me to beat anyone up for you?”

The joke only made her cry harder. Robb forced a path for them through the house. Along the way, Theon had somehow joined him. Sansa did not want Theon to see her cry, but she couldn’t find the voice to ask him to leave.

Robb didn’t push Sansa to explain herself, but his eyes flashed in understanding when Theon mentioned seeing Jon and Ygritte among the rest of the partygoers. “The whole lot of them live like half an hour north of here. The giant one Tormund is Ygritte’s cousin. Gods, I still can’t believe that J—”

“Theon, SHUT UP!” Robb said it so forcefully that Theon actually did it. They walked the rest of the way in silence.    
  
Thankfully, when they reached the house, the downstairs lights were on, but it seemed their parents had already gone to bed.

“I’ll let them know we got home okay,” Robb told her. “You go get some rest.”

Sansa nodded dumbly.

“I’m real sorry about tonight,” he added. “If I’d known they’d be—I never would have made you come.”

Sansa didn’t know how to reply, so she just start plodding up the stairs. She wiped off her makeup, undid her hair, put on her pajamas, and slipped into bed. A half hour later, she heard a knock at her door.

“Go away,” she croaked.

The knocking persisted. “I don’t want to talk, Robb.”

The door opened. “I’m not Robb.”

“Arya, please. I just want to be alone.”

Arya climbed into bed beside her. “Good. So do I. We can be alone together.”

Neither sister spoke for over two minutes. Finally, Sansa sniffed back tears and murmured hoarsely, “I really thought he liked me.”

“I did too,” Arya replied softly.

“I really liked him,” Sansa admitted.

“I know.”

“How?”

“Cause I’m your sister, and I know you.” She pulled the covers more snugly over them. “Go to sleep, Sansa. Tomorrow I’ll let you take me to the mall after school.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll get pretzels and lemonade?”

“Yeah.”

Sansa yawned, suddenly exhausted. “Okay.”

 

She fell asleep listening to Arya’s snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hard chapter to write! I hate putting Sansa through this. But I think this will likely be the worst of it.  
> Please don't throw tomatoes! Thanks for sticking with me!


	10. Time with Goodbyes

When they came back from the mall the next day, Sansa was pleasantly full from pretzels and lemonade. She was also blonde.  
  
She hadn’t gone into the mall intending to dye her hair. She figured she’d force Arya to try on a few pretty dresses, stuff herself silly at the food court, and then go home. But when they passed the salon, Sansa couldn’t help but think that maybe a change would be nice. She’d had nearly waist-long red hair for years. Every knew her for it; everyone commented on it. And she was sick of it. Sick of looking the same since she was eleven and had that growth spurt. Sick of sticking out in crowds. Sick of avoiding certain colors and pretending to enjoy ginger jokes.  
  
And maybe part of her wanted to spite Jon and erase any connection between herself and Ygritte.   
  
“Do you think I should dye my hair?” Sansa asked Arya as they passed by the salon.  
  
“Absolutely, I do,” Arya responded automatically, her eyes had lit up with genuine excitement. She’d grabbed Sansa’s hand and led them in. “I’ll get mine done too. It’ll be our very own Transformation Tuesday.”    
  
Arya’s infectious enthusiasm gave Sansa the push she needed to get in the salon chair, but her nerves kicked in once her long locks were shorn to just past her collarbone and worsened when the hairstylist started lathering bleach into her hair.  
  
But Arya, who herself was enduring the same process, held her hand and chattered nonstop about how great it was going to look once they were done. Sansa had never been more grateful for Arya’s ability to talk ad nauseam, seemingly without the need for breath.  
  
  
Arya was getting her hair dyed an aqua green; she’d had it cut to just below her ears. Sansa decided on a baby blonde look; while she admired that Arya was so willing to do something so daring, she wanted something that seemed more natural—so that when she looked in the mirror she’d still feel feminine and pretty, just in a new way.  
  
The bleached was itchy and uncomfortable, but Sansa knew from years of experience that beauty meant pain. She looked at her odd alien self, covered in tin foil, in the mirror, and reminded herself to keep taking even breaths. When the color was done, she heaved a sigh of relief. Then shock set it—and then delight.   
She and Arya erupted in shrieks.   
  
“YOU LOOK SO GREAT—“  
  
“—OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE—“  
  
“—LOOK AT THAT COLOR—“  
  
“—YOU LOOK SO HOT!”  


After paying and tipping generously, they strutted out of the salon and into the nearest clothing store. Their hair looked too good for the outfits they were currently wearing. They found Arya a pair of burgundy leather pants and a black cutoff top, and Sansa got a scarlet halter dress. With dark red hair, she tended to avoid wearing most shades of red. But now, she felt more adventurous, more willing to stand out.  
  
They wore their new outfits to the food court, where they were incredibly overdressed, and gorged themselves on pretzels and lemonade.   
  
When their dad arrived to pick them up, Sansa’s anxiety kicked back in. But Arya just laughed. “I’ll get in the car first. Once he sees green hair, he won’t care yours is blonde.”  
  
Arya was right. Ned was so shocked by Arya’s bright locks that he was far more focused on her than Sansa. The same was true for the rest of their family. Nevertheless, Sansa was most concerned about her mother’s reaction.  
  
Cat frowned when she saw her and reached for the blonde strands. “I wish you’d told me first.”  
  
“There was no time. I didn’t plan it. It was a last minute thing. I think if I took a minute to think about it, I probably would’ve chickened out.”  
  
“You made sure they used all the best products, right?”  
  
Sansa nodded. She’d been adamant at the salon. The haircuts had not been cheap. With the hair plus the new dress, Sansa’s spending money was all but gone. “Do you like it?” she asked fretfully.  
  
Cat smiled and tucked Sansa’s hair behind her ear. “You look different, but still just as beautiful.”  
  
Sansa beamed.  
  
“And they do say blondes have more fun.”  
  
  
Sansa did have more fun as a blonde.  
  
Margaery declared the new look “absolutely marvelous” and insisted on buying Sansa a thirty-four-dollar crimson red lipstick after learning about her new dress.  
  
She slept over her house, and they watched Marilyn Monroe movies all night. Sansa had always considered herself more of an Audrey than a Marilyn, “La Vie en Rose” rather than “Some Like It Hot.” Nevertheless, she laughed and laughed at the tips Margaery gave her to be more of a blonde bombshell.  
  
“You need to pout more, darling. You’re giving me schoolgirl, and I want minx!”  
  
“My lips are too thin!”  
  
“No lips are too thin with the right liner! Now give me some blue-eyed temptress!”  
  
With the school year over, she was spending more time with Margaery than usual. They were both done with finals; Sansa had done well in every class, and even got a B- in math, which was quite good for her—up from her C from last year. Sansa felt like she deserved some time to relax. Margaery had a pool, and they spent several days sunbathing and drinking lemonade.   
  
By the time of Robb’s graduation, Sansa’s pale skin had the slightest bit of a tan—up from porcelain to fair; she was still of the North after all.  
  
She sat with her family in the stands of the local arena and listened to the boring speeches. She clapped for the names she recognized, unease growing as they got further down the alphabet.  
  
When they called Jon’s name, Sansa applauded politely, for the sake of his mother who was sitting nearby. She’d heard from Arya that Jon was set to go up north for basic training in a month. The thought made her stomach twist.  
  
She ignored the feeling, though, because Robb’s name was called, and all her siblings were screaming as loud as they could. Sansa joined them; she wasn’t as a quarter as loud as Rickon, but she cheered more than she had for Jon.   
  
Pictures took forever; her mom wanted every combination: Robb and Sansa, Robb and Arya, Robb with his sisters, Robb with his brothers, and so on.  
  
Robb’s friends started filtering in and out, hopping into photos and then going off to the find their respective families.  
  
Sansa braced herself for Jon’s inevitable presence; he wandered over with his mom and gave Robb a hug.   
  
After a few moments, he caught Sansa’s eye and gave her a small wave. Sansa straightened her chin and stared back at him until he looked away.  
  
He didn’t say anything directly to her, but she was grateful for that; she wasn’t ready to speak to him again. And she couldn’t bear to hear him say anything about her hair, either in praise or blame. She wouldn’t let him take that away from her. She wanted to be a new and improved Sansa—not the same stupid girl but with hydrogen peroxide.  
  
Sansa didn’t speak to Jon until a few weeks later. Her mom had dropped her off at the wolf reservation while she went to a doctor’s appointment in the area. When Sansa arrived at Ghost’s pen, she found Jon there.  
  
“Oh, hello,” she said, startled.  
  
Jon, who’d been crouched down beside Ghost, jumped up. “Sansa.” He moved aside to let her into the pen more. “I wasn’t expecting you, or—“  
  
Or he wouldn’t have come, seemed to be the gist of his unspoken rest of the sentence. Sansa did her best to smile primly. “Mom’s got an appointment nearby. I tagged along. I like to see Ghost every chance I can.”  
  
“Yeah, Mr. Mormont said you’ve been by a lot. Always at different times.”  
  
“Oh, is he here?”  
  
“Not today. He mentioned the last time I came by.” He paused, frowned, and shook his head. “Since school’s been out, it’s been less busy and—“  
  
“And you have your own form of transportation,” Sansa finished for him rather coldly.  
  
Jon brought his hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he agreed sheepishly. His eyes swept over her face. “You changed your hair.” His voice was silky soft, and part of Sansa wanted to sink into his arms and listen to that voice as it rumbled out of his chest.

But instead, she stayed firmly where she was and replied with a stiff “Yeah.”

“I like it. I mean—I’ll always like the red—but—you look—”

“I felt like it was time for a change,” she cut him off quickly.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, were you just leaving then?”  
  
Jon’s eyebrows shot up, and a second later when he looked back at her, he looked like a kicked wolf pup.  
  
Sansa fidgeted with her hands and willed herself not to feel any sympathy. Her face might look like a shade of porcelain, but she could be iron, even steel.  
  
“Yeah, okay then.” Jon scooted around her and was almost at the exit when he paused. “I’m leaving for Castle Black for boot camp in three days.”  
  
“I know. Arya told me.”  
  
“Oh, well—I wasn’t sure. We haven’t—I didn’t—" He looked away and then back at her. “Sansa, I—“  
  
She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in months. “Good luck, Jon. Be safe.” It wasn’t the warmest goodbye, but it was an honest one. As much as he had pained her, Sansa wanted him to be okay. The thought that he might get hurt or worse up North was unbearable.  
  
He gave her a sad half-smile. “You too.” He looked to the wolf weaving in between her ankles. “Bye, Ghost.” He turned back to give her that sad smile again. He lifted his hand in an almost wave.  
  
Sansa returned it.  
  
For a few moments, he didn’t move, and then, at last, he was gone.

Sansa dropped to her knees and let the tears fall. Ghost nuzzled her face and licked them away.

After about 45 minutes of seeking comfort in Ghost’s soft fur, she left the reservation feeling a lot lighter than she had in months—like a weight she’d been carrying had finally been lifted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and for all the enthusiastic responses to the last chapter! Very much appreciated. I know that a lot of you are very upset, but things are looking up!   
> I considered making Sansa a brunette like Alayne, but I love Sophie's blonde hair so much that I went for that. Also, I thought she could use something lighter!


	11. Time with Edric

Every day got easier; she thought of Jon less and less, and in time, she was able to go most days without thinking of him once.  
  
Robb’s leaving for college had helped. She still hadn’t forgiven him for the role he’d played in breaking up—well, two people couldn’t really break up if they’d never been together—whatever there was between her and Jon. Even though she missed her big brother, wondered how he was doing at school, and looked forward to hearing updates about his classes and roommate drama, it was a relief not to have him around all the time. She didn’t have to worry so much that Jon’s name would get mentioned at dinner or that Theon would start gossiping about Jon and some girl. She didn’t miss not having someone around who always reminded her she was the younger sister or insisted on protecting her from the everyday growing pains of teenage life.  
  
Sansa liked being the oldest Stark in the house. She got to set the tone for once, and that meant that when dinner time came around, she and her mom weren’t doing all the work by themselves anymore; Rickon set the table, Bran washed dishes, and Arya took out the trash. They all chipped in more, looked after one another. And they visited the wolves together with their dad. Rickon was excited because a new pup was born that Mr. Mormont let him name; Rickon, for reasons all his own, named him Shaggydog.   
  
Early on, once Robb had settled into his new dorm and life had settled in, Sansa made some important decisions about how she wanted to move on. She was tired of waiting around for a boy who’d made it very clear that he didn’t want to date her. She’d just turned sixteen; she wanted to be happy—at least cry less.

She’d made a deal with Arya about how to handle the Jon question. Jon was Arya’s friend and had been for a long time prior to whatever happened between him and Sansa, so Sansa would never ask Arya to stop talking to Jon or to stop caring about him—though Arya did offer to cut out one of his eyes.  
  
“Payback’s a bitch,” she’d said with a shrug when Sansa gasped. “And I’d only take the one eye.”  
  
“I appreciate your willingness to dismember those who wrong me, Arya, but perhaps not today.”  
  
She was fine with Arya remaining in contact with Jon, so long as she didn’t have to hear about specifics, and Arya promised not to pass along any detailed information about Sansa to him besides that she was doing well and still in school. She’d asked Arya not to tell her if Jon ever mentioned her and how frequently. Every once in a while, though, she’d ask about him, and Arya would tell her exactly what Sansa had outlined she should: he was safe, he was still in the army, he was still far away. No pictures were allowed, and though that was hard to stick to, Sansa thought that was the most important rule they’d established.  
  
The day Jon had left for Castle Black, Sansa hadn’t seen him off with the others. She’d just seen him days before at the wolf reservation, and she felt too raw to bid him goodbye again. Especially because the second time would have been that more final. Instead, she’d packed up everything he’d given her and everything that reminded her of him into a little box and stuffed it into the back of her closet.   
  
Unfortunately, that meant that her beautiful pink cashmere sweater had been put away for the foreseeable future. It was a pity because it was such a nice sweater, and Sansa had only worn it the one time; but she couldn’t look at the sweater without thinking of first kisses that never were.  
  
When she had her next kiss—the next one that mattered at least—she was seventeen and wearing a red spaghetti strap top underneath a jean jacket, which quickly came off, as did the spaghetti strap top.  
  
Edric Storm moved to Winterfell in the middle of Sansa’s sophomore year, and his presence had literally been a whirlwind for the female (and some of the male) population of Winterfell High.  
  
He had tan skin and dark blue eyes, strong cheek bones, black hair, and full, red lips—particularly for a boy—that were often quirked into a grin—a bit cocky but not overly arrogant. He was tall, muscular, and could fill out a pair of jeans like no sixteen-year-old she’d ever seen. Even Arya let out a little drool the first time she’d seen him—which made her friend Gendry very upset.  
  
“I have blue eyes too, you know. And our hair is basically the same.”  
  
“Sure,” Arya had replied, though still looked dazed.  
  
Gendry had taken to going to the gym more since then.  
  
Edric’s voice was deep, and he had a confidence to him that no mid-semester high school transfer should be allowed. He was in two of Sansa’s classes, and she had to do everything she could to keep her eyes on the board and her ears focused on what the teacher was saying. Luckily, he wasn’t in her math class, so she wasn’t at risk of flunking.  
  
The gossip mill did its work to find out everything about him, and Sansa listened eagerly to what was being said. He’d lived in King’s Landing and moved here with his mom and step-dad for his mom’s work. He liked to race motorcycles, even though he wasn't legally allowed to do so. He didn’t have any siblings or a girlfriend, and he had a thing for blondes.  
  
Sansa was still regularly taking trips to the salon to keep up with her roots, though Arya had let the green fade long before. She’d been thinking about letting the red come back in until she learned that tidbit. Instead, she’d asked for more highlights.  
  
Edric was actually a month younger than Sansa, but he got his license sooner than she did. When he showed up to school in May of the sophomore year on his motorcycle, Sansa’s throat went dry, and her entire body felt like it was lit up with crackling energy and with the strong desire to touch him. She’d felt attracted to boys before, but never like this.   
  
Margaery had whistled at the sight of Edric taking off his motorcycle helmet. “Mmm, that boy is delicious.”  
  
“I want him,” Sansa announced without thinking.  
  
“Oh, really?” Margaery cooed with delight. She pursed her lips together in a mischievous smirk. “Finally someone worthy has caught your eye, and I can put my talents to good use. Sansa Stark, I am going to make sure you get what you want.”  
  
They made a plan. Sansa used her vast knowledge of Teen Vogue, Margaery contributed with advice from her own sexual experiences, and Arya supplied information she weeded out of Gendry, who’d actually became friends with Edric once he overcame his initial dislike of him. They hung out at the mechanic shop Gendry was still too young to work at but did so under-the-table anyway.   
  
But in the end, it hadn’t taken very much scheming to get Edric and Sansa together. Since she’d finally gotten her driver’s license, she’d applied for jobs all over town that summer. She volunteered at the wolf reservation once a week — and could drive there ably since it was where her dad would have her drive to the most when they were practicing. But the reservation didn’t pay, and Sansa wanted to save up some money so she could get a car of her own.  
  
She started waiting tables at a local steak restaurant, and not a week later, Edric started bussing there. She worked the system to ensure that they took their breaks around the same time.  
  
Apart from gossip and the undeniable truth that Edric was devastatingly hot, Sansa didn’t know much about him. But in their fifteen minute breaks, she found out that he was actually pretty nice. He was always good about covering other people’s shifts, was polite to all his co-workers, and had very clean fingernails for someone who rode a motorcycle.  
  
After a couple of weeks, when she told him she had a sweet tooth, whenever they worked till closing, he’d sneak her a piece of dessert to bring home with her. It was a change—a boy giving her baked goods instead of the other way around. Sansa liked it.  
  
“Just don’t eat it in front of me,” he’d remind her with that grin of his as he’d pass her the dessert. “I don’t think I could handle watching your teeth sink into such sweetness without wanting to steal a taste.”

The line had sent her into a tizzy that had her in a daze for days.  
  
And he could draw. While they chatted in the break room, sometimes he would draw her, and Sansa, who’d seen Titanic fifteen times in the theater when it was rereleased, didn’t think anything could be sexier. She’d hung up the pencil sketch he’d done of her eyes in her bedroom; every time she passed it, her stomach fluttered.  
  
“You are so stunning,” he told her one day as she was sipping some lemonade and he was sketching her face.   
  
Her face grew pink. No boy had ever called her stunning before. Pretty and lovely, beautiful even—but never stunning.  
  
“You do this thing where you tuck in your chin to hide your smile. But it doesn’t work. Your eyes give you away.” He gave her a smile of his own. “Are you dating anybody?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Would you like to go on a date with me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Sansa liked how direct Edric was. He didn’t play games, didn’t make promises he didn’t keep, didn’t say one thing one day and act cold the next. He made her feel like she didn’t have to hide how much she was attracted to him. Which was good because she was very, very attracted to him.  
  
They went out together one night after work. She’d changed in the restaurant bathroom into the aforementioned red spaghetti strap top, a jean jacket, and a pair of black pants. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with the ends of his sleeves rolled up just so. If he couldn’t hear, she would have whined at the sight of him.  
  
Part of Sansa knew it wasn’t the best idea to get on the back of his motorcycle, but when he offered her his spare helmet, she didn’t protest.  
  
She wet her lips as he put the helmet on her. Despite having just finished his shift, he smelled good, and she leaned into his touch.  
  
“You are dangerous, Ms. Stark,” he told her.  
  
“Me? I’m not the one who drives a motorcycle, Mr. Storm.”  
  
He took her hand and helped her climb on. “But your eyes do things to me.”

“What kind of things?”

He grinned. “The best things.”  
  
They only drove a couple of blocks to the center of town, but it was enough to take Sansa’s breath away. When he helped her off the motorcycle, she couldn’t help but to cling to his shoulders just a little too long. He held out his hand, and Sansa, joyously, took it.  
  
“Where would you like to go? I know some places, but you’ve lived here longer.”  
  
The night was warm. They’d both picked at food on their respective breaks earlier, and though she was still a little hungry, she wasn’t in the mood for a sit-down meal. Serving food for thirty hours a week had taken the fun out of eating out. And being around Edric, she had other things than food in mind.  
  
“Have you ever been to the glass gardens?” she asked.  
  
“Shouldn’t those be closed by now?”  
  
They were. Most things in Winterfell were by the time their restaurant closed. “Not if your mom works there sometimes and gave you the passcode.”  
  
It sounded cooler when she said it like that. In reality, Sansa had helped her mom lug dirt and fertilizer and pots to the gardens so many times that the manager, whose twin girls Sansa babysat sometimes, had told her she could enter whenever she liked after hours, so long as she checked on the plants and watered anything that looked in need. But he didn’t need to know that.  
  
Edric grinned at her. “Lead the way.”  
  
She made a show of taking him around to different plants that were her favorites—the lilies and jasmine, lavender, oxalis, and blue winter roses.  
  
He seemed genuinely interested, telling her how he’d like to come back in the day to sketch some of the leaves on the oxalis and practice his still life skills.  
  
But as much as she liked his sketches, she wasn’t really in the mood to talk about art. That wasn’t why she brought him to the glass gardens.  
  
She took his hand and placed it on her hip. Edric was a few inches taller than her so she had to look up to find his eyes, which were twinkling. She put her own hand to rest lightly on his stomach.  
  
She could feel the muscles clench and unclench as he breathed.  
  
“Why, Ms. Stark, I think you might have had an ulterior motive in bringing me here tonight.”  
  
“Do you object?”  
  
He pulled her closer to him. “Not in the slightest.”  
  
He kissed her then, his lips warm against hers.   
  
When Sansa used to think about kissing, she’d always imagine it was like sighing into someone, so soft and sweet, mouths moving slow and smooth.  
  
Kissing Edric was like being lit on fire. He didn’t kiss her slow and sweet but eagerly with a kind of frantic need. His hand against her back, gripping at the bit of flesh where her shirt met her pants. The other hand tangled in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.   
  
“Gods, you’re good at this,” Edric said as he trailed his lips along her neck. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sansa asked, focused on catching up on her breath. “We only started working together a few weeks ago.”  
  
“I watched you in class. You have great posture and nice handwriting. And very,” he pecked her, “very,” again, “very,” and again, “nice lips.”  
  
The praise made her want him even more. Sansa pulled off her jacket and started kissing him again. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth when his tongue licked the seam of her lips, and she moaned when he taught her how to really kiss.  
  
When the pulled up for air, Sansa hissed, “Take your shirt off.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
She pulled her tank top off and her bra too. For a second, her confidence faltered, but she resisted the urge to cover herself when she saw Edric’s hungry eyes on her.  
  
“Your shirt, Mr. Storm,” she reminded him.  
  
“As Ms. Stark commands,” he complied and pulled his t-shirt over his head.  
  
Sansa licked her lips as she gazed at his chest and stomach. She could see he was panting, and she wondered if his heart was beating as fast as her own.  
  
“Kiss me again.”  
  
His callused fingers settled at her rib cage, inching toward her breasts, and his breath settled at the crook of her neck as he kissed up it. “I’ll kiss whatever you want, whenever you want, however you want.”  
  
And he did.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments on last chapter! So eager to hear what you all think of this one!


	12. Time with Change

They didn’t have sex that night in the Glass Gardens. Part of her wanted to, particularly when his mouth was on her collar bone and his fingers were curling inside her and her heart was beating so loudly she was sure to be embarrassed about it later. But she wasn’t ready, and he said that was fine and that they had plenty of time to do other things—which were quite pleasurable in themselves.  
  
Preoccupied as they were, they didn’t have sex until several months later in December, after Edric had met both her parents, come to dinner nine times, learned several new tricks about moving on wheels from Bran, lost seventeen rounds of rock, paper, scissor to Rickon, met Robb once, and had accompanied Sansa to three of Arya’s fencing tournaments.  
  
When they did have sex, it was in his bed while his mother and stepfather were away on a trip. She could tell he’d spent extra time making the bed and had cleaned up his room.   
  
Sansa had asked her mother weeks before if she could go to the gynecologist and start a birth control prescription; it had been a difficult conversation for them both.   
  
But Edric has used a condom anyway.  He’d had it planned, just as she had. Sansa liked that. And she liked how earnestly he’d whispered in her ear how stunning she was when he entered her the first time and kissed her hard to distract her from the pain. She liked that he waited patiently until she told him to move and that he held her hand as he did so. She liked that he did his best to go slow, and that he’d gotten her off before they began.  
  
She liked that when they were done, he held her close and asked if she was okay. She liked that when they had sex the next few times, he watched her closely to see what she responded to the most and made sure to keep doing those things. She liked that he tried to make sure she came first and was honest about his preferences, just as he encouraged her to be the same.  
  
She liked that they didn’t just have sex every time they were together and that he still came to eat dinner with her family. She liked that he didn’t take it for granted that they would just go to junior prom together but asked her formally and then brought her flowers, wore a tux, and told her how stunning she was in her silver dress. She liked that when she told him he made it herself, he asked if he could look at it letter to sketch a design.  
  
She liked that he presented that sketch to her in a box with a bow on a random Tuesday, but remembered it was the day they first started working at the restaurant together. She liked that he continued to give her his drawings and would still surprise her sometimes with dessert.  
  
She liked that he never pressured her to give him anything, and that she didn’t feel the need or obligation to thank him. She liked that they usually took turns picking up the check and that he didn’t hound her if she decided to spend time with her family or friends instead of him.

She liked that he texted her regularly. Little thoughts he’d had that day or a reminder that he cared. She liked that he made her appreciate texting in a way she hadn’t before. She liked the immediacy of it; the familiarity of his words and his commitment to staying in contact with her. She liked that he never sent her a photo of his dick but that he would sometimes send her quotes from ‘A Dance with Dragons.’

  
She liked that when his mom got transferred back to King’s Landing their senior year, they mutually decided to break up, as she was headed off to college and he wanted to find work in a mechanic shop and take art classes. She liked that the last time they had sex, he told her how she was the most stunning girl he’d ever met, how much she’d meant to him and how he’d always remember her fondly—that he valued what they had together.   
  
She liked that she could say the same. And when he left Winterfell, she liked that she cried, not because there was no getting over him, but because she knew she could. She’d liked a lot of things about Edric Storm, but she was never sure that like had ever fully become love. She’d never known romantic love before, so she wasn’t quite sure.   
  
But she was nonetheless grateful that his leaving didn’t break her. That fact alone maybe was enough for love. When she thought of him, she only wished him well and found herself smiling at the remembrance of his lips. She kept the picture he drew of her eyes hanging in her room and still looked at it often.  
  
She finished her senior year by joining the debate team and learned she had a surprising knack for politics—and for politely but firmly rebutting others’ arguments.

“You wear your courtesy like steel,” Cat had told her after her first debate. “You were so clever.”

“Made me look like a right northern fool,” Ned agreed warmly and pulled his daughter in for a hug.

She volunteered more at the wolf reservation. She took Arya, a sophomore, as her date to senior prom, and they took the best photos she had ever seen. She and Arya made collages of them to hang up in their rooms. Slowly, she let her hair transition from blonde to strawberry back to red. She had to ditch the red lipstick, but it was worth it to look in the mirror and see an older but familiar image of Sansa Stark again.  
  
The summer before leaving for college, she spent more time with Robb than she had in a couple of years. She found she missed him, and it was nice to benefit from his experience as she was about to leave home for the first time. Robb had stayed somewhat close, attending Winterfell University. Part of her was surprised that Robb didn’t come home more—perhaps to get their mom to do his laundry every other week. But the more time she spent with Robb, the more she realized how much more mature he’d gotten. He worked more, went out with girls less, helped their father. He was even growing a beard. But he still called her Sansy Pants. And that oddly made her smile.   
  
She liked talking to Robb again. She missed him when she left for school. It’d been a very teary goodbye when her parents left after helping her get settled in the new dorms. Despite her poor skills in math, she’d been accepted to Citadel University, very old and very prestigious, as well as King’s Landing U, both of which she’d turned down. She also, after many pro/con lists, had turned down Winterfell University and opted to go to Twins College in Riverrun, where her mom had gone. It was far enough away that she felt that she was experiencing something new but close enough that she could still come home, even if just for the weekend.  
  
At least, that’s what she told Ghost when she visited him last.  
  
She was paired up to room with a girl named Meera Reed. Meera wanted to study engineering; she had incredible drive, fierce loyalty, and fantastic curly hair. She reminded Sansa of both Arya and Bran, whom she missed dearly. Meera was outdoorsy, and she loved to hear Sansa’s stories about Ghost, whose picture she had framed and placed on her dresser along with other family photos. Sansa, in turn, pestered Meera for tales of her adventures with her little brother Jojen, whose antics made her laugh and helped dull the ache of not being with her own siblings.   
  
Sansa, surprisingly, also befriended her dorm’s RA Brienne O’Tarth. Brienne was a junior and played on the rugby team. She was quite unlike Sansa in many ways: physically tough where Sansa was soft, blunt where Sansa was politely euphemistic, and unapologetic where Sansa was people-pleasing. But they were both quite tall for women, and that was enough to bond them in the beginning. Sansa liked spending time with Brienne—and her friend Podrick, who always blushed when she was around.   
  
She had nice friends and chosen interesting first courses on civil wars, history, writing, and gender studies—so grateful to be done with math. The workload was more than she experienced before, but she bought a lot of flashcards and made it through her midterms—without even needing to rely on coffee. She’d always preferred lemon tea instead.  
  
Coming home for Thanksgiving was a blessing and a curse, as she wanted nothing more than to spend time with her family and visit her beloved Ghost, yet knew she couldn’t lose focus or she’d never finish her final papers on time. Somehow, she managed both, and was feeling quite proud in mid-December as she packed up to go home for the winter break. She’d done it—lived on her own for months—and she’d done well. She only had the one exam left—which she knew she’d pass with flying colors—and so had made plans to have a celebratory dinner with Meera.  
  
She was putting on her earrings when her phone rang.  
  
“Arya!” she sang into the phone. “I’ve only got a few minutes before Meera and I are going to gorge on the last of our dining points for the semester. I hope they have those little cakes I like. I plan to eat forty of them. I’m taking the whole ‘freshman fifteen’ very seriously. But I’m so glad you called! I miss you! I can’t wait to come home. Just three more days! How are you? Did Gendry finally take his head out of his—”  
  
“Sansa—“ Arya heaved a sigh.   
  
“Hey? What’s wrong?”  
  
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”  
  
“Is it about my Christmas present?” Sansa asked with a laugh as she grabbed a sweater from her closet and put it on. “Cause you never can keep that secret. Remember when—“  
  
“No—it’s not—it’s—it’s about Jon.”  
  
“Oh.” Sansa sat down on her bed.   
  
“I know it’s against the rules—to bring him up—when you didn’t ask.”  
  
“Yes,” Sansa agreed; her eyes flirted to her picture of Ghost, but her eyes felt too out of focus to see him clearly.  
  
“Sansa—you there?”  
  
“Yes, sorry. I’m here.”  
  
“I wasn’t sure I should say anything—but I wasn’t sure—you still have exams—but I thought maybe you’d like to know—I—“  
  
“Arya,” Sansa interrupted, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “What is it that I should know about Jon?”  
  
Arya didn’t answer right away, and Sansa repeated her name insistently.  
  
“Jon’s been wounded. I don’t know how bad, but his mom says he’s in intensive care and unresponsive, so...”  
  
Sansa didn’t need her to say the rest. She was clutching the phone so tightly that her fingers hurt. She switched hands. “Does his mom know anything else?”  
  
“No—not that I know of at least.”  
  
Sansa nodded. “Will you tell me—if—when she does?” She could hear Arya crying on the other line.   
  
“Of course. As soon as I hear something.”  
  
“That’s—that’s good. How—how long has he been in the hospital?”  
  
“Three days.”  
  
“Three—gods—wow—okay. Do—do you know what happened?”  
  
“He was stabbed.”  
  
“Stabbed?”  
  
“Multiple times.”  
  
“Where?” Sansa croaked.  
  
“In the chest—near the heart.”  
  
The news made Sansa feel as though she’d been dealt the same wounds. She felt tears fall down her cheeks as she listened to Arya’s hoarse explanation. When she finished, Sansa felt like she couldn’t breathe.  
  
Meera, back from the bathroom down the hall, came into the room then.  
  
“Hey, wolf girl, you ready?”  
  
Sansa wiped away her tears. “Arya, I have to go,” she stammered. “Will—will you call me? As soon as you hear more? I mean, the minute you hear—I want—I need to know.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
Sansa didn’t eat anything with Meera; she barely spoke for the next three days. She didn’t study, didn’t pack, didn’t brush her hair. Meera tried to get her to go outside, but Sansa refused. She just stayed in her room and waited by her phone.   
  
Until finally, it rang. “Hello?” she answered raggedly.  
  
“Sansa.”  
  
“Arya?”  
  
“Sansa, he’s awake.”

Her heart skipped.

“He’s gonna be okay. I just got off the phone with his mom. The doctor said they’ll be a lot of scarring, and they have to keep him for observation---something about blood clots—but he should be allowed to leave the ICU in a few days…Sansa? You still there?”

“I’m here,” Sansa assured her. “That’s fantastic news. I’m so glad he’s going to be okay.”

“Me too. I was so worried. We’ve all been on edge the last few days. I feel like I can finally breathe.”

Sansa knew exactly what she meant.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re busy! Still one more exam to go, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sansa, are you okay? You sound a little off.”

“Just tired. Exams, you know?”

“All right. Well, I promised I’d call Gendry back once we heard more news. Robb’s been in and out of the hospital all week, so I’m sure he already knows. Do—do you want me to pass along a message or anything? To Jon?”

Sansa took a moment to answer. “Just tell Mrs. Snow I’m glad he’s okay. Will you?”

“Sure.”

 

A week later, Sansa had finished her exams, left school, and was back home for Christmas. One of the first things she did was visit Ghost so she could bring him and Mr. Mormont new knitted items. She laughed when Ghost licked her face and ran her fingers through his fur as Mr. Mormont gave her a report on all the she had missed. But seeing as she called regularly to get updates from him, she hadn’t missed much.

“It’s good to see you back, though, child, up north where you belong.”

She smiled and kissed the top of Ghost’s head. “Winterfell is my home,” she told him. “No matter where I go, my heart is here.”

On her way home from the reservation, she stopped by the Snows’ house and left a tupperware full of gingersnaps in their mailbox.     

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that I haven't responded to all the comments from last chapter yet. I've been quite busy. This chapter wasn't meant to turn out this way, but then it did. Can't explain it. Hope you enjoyed it!


	13. Time with College

Christmas came and went. As she grew older, Sansa cared less for presents and more for the opportunity to spend time with those she loved. But her parents did buy her a gorgeous hair pin shaped like a dragonfly that she wore on New Year’s Eve, Bran got her some new books on rhetoric, politics, and intersectional feminism that she was eager to read, and Arya gave her a slip of paper that just read “Later.”  
  
“What does this mean?” she’d asked when she pulled the piece of paper out of the plain box Arya had wrapped it in.  
  
“Exactly what it says,” was her sister’s enigmatic reply.  
  
Luckily, Robb’s gift of fancy assorted teas and Rickon’s present, a novelty t-shirt that read ‘You Can’t Frighten Me,’ didn’t need as much explaining.  
  
They had a more subdued holiday season than usual. Robb was home for only a short time, as he was busy with his internship and business school applications. Now that she had been away for school herself, Sansa felt like she could understood Rob and his business a bit better. She loved spending time with her family, sleeping in her own room, and being back in Winterfell, but she spent more time than usual on her phone texting to the group chat she, Meera, and Brienne had formed. It felt so strange, after spending every day together, not to see them. Robb knew what she felt right away.

“It’s a bit like having two families,” he explained. “Your family at home, and the little family you have at school. You just have to balance it.”

Robb was right, and she settled back into home, such that it felt like her first semester away seemed like a strange dream. Rickon got a cold, and then everyone did. Despite the illness, Bran was being quieter than usual, and Arya would go through fits of being wild and then sullen. Sansa spent a lot of the break with Ghost. Mr. Mormont was taking a few days off to go visit his son and, knowing she was back in town, asked Sansa to keep an eye on Ghost. She was happy to do it. Being around Ghost was calming—which she needed.  
  
They were all anxious to hear more news about Jon. He’d been transferred to a hospital nearby so that Mrs. Snow could visit him more easily. There was no news about what that meant in terms of Jon’s status with the Night’s Watch. Robb reported that while the situation wasn’t as life-or-death as it had been a few weeks before, Jon did need to have more surgery to help deal with some of the eternal bleeding.  
  
Surprisingly, it was Catelyn who suggested they all go visit him in the hospital the day after his surgery.   
  
She heard her parents discussing it in hushed voices after dinner. “They need to see that he’s going to be okay. They need to see it for themselves.”  
  
“But what about—“  
  
“Her too,” Cat answered, and Sansa’s stomach dropped when she realized they were talking about her. “It’s the only way you can deal with these types of things.”  
  
“You’re right,” Ned agreed with a sigh. “We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll call Lyanna to let her know.”  
  
Most of Sansa’s clothes were in her dorm room, so she had limited options the next day. She didn’t want to wear black—didn’t like how ominous that seemed—so she wore a warm dark blue sweater and her third nicest pair of jeans. She was quiet on the way over—and so forced herself to chat with Rickon about what weapon she’d bring with her to the zombie apocalypse. He was unimpressed when she told him her brain, because he was obsessed with the katana, but she felt she made a compelling case; it was a good distraction, either way.  
  
When they made their way to Jon’s room and the nurse told them that only three visitors were allowed at a time, Sansa sank into the horrible waiting room wallpaper, allowing her younger siblings to go first. She did her best not to fidget and tried to be as consumed by last year’s fashion magazines as she hoped her face portrayed.  
  
Her parents went next, and then she had more trouble keeping her hands from fidgeting and her pulse from quickening. When they returned to the waiting room, her father approached her. “He’s asleep,” Ned said softly. “Do you still want to—?”  
  
She nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”  
  
Sansa shook her head. “That’s okay.”  
  
She found his room easily enough and tried her best to keep her knees from shaking.   
  
Jon was lying in bed, asleep like her father had said. The sight of him took her breath away. His skin looked sallow, his face too thin. His beautiful hair was gone, cropped tightly to his head. When she stepped closer, she could see a dark red scar that trailed his left eye.

  
She sat down in the chair next to his bed so she could study him more. His chest was covered by a standard hospital gown, but she could spy heavy gauze beneath it. He looked awful, but he was breathing, slow and steady. She concentrated on the sound of his breaths and the movement of his chest. And she prayed to the gods—the old ones her father kept—and asked them to heal him, make him strong again.  
  
She was so wrapped up in her prayers that she didn’t notice someone else had entered the room until she heard her name being called.  
  
She tore her eyes away to see Mrs. Snow. Sansa immediately rose to her feet. “Hi.”  
  
“Hello.”  
  
“I’m very sorry for all you must be going through.”  
  
Lyanna gave her a weak smile. “Thank you.” She gazed over at Jon. “That boy is my whole world. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost him.”  
  
Sansa didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded. Even under more normal circumstances, she’d never known quite what to say to Mrs. Snow. When she was younger, she’d always been wary of her because her mother didn’t like Lyanna for some unspoken reason. But Sansa could sense the tension between the two women, and she’d loyally taken her mother’s side. Then, when she grew older and her crush on Jon had bloomed, she’d worried that Mrs. Snow wouldn’t like her—that she’d think her too prissy or unworthy or childish. When Jon had left, she’d maintained her avoidance because Mrs. Snow’s eyes looked far too much like her son’s.  
  
Sansa fidgeted with her hands. “I should get going. My family is waiting.”  
  
“Thank you for coming.”  
  
“Of course. Everyone was worried when we hear the news. When I heard—I—we were all worried. We all care about Jon.”  
  
Mrs. Snow sighed and eyed her sympathetically. “I see that now. I didn’t before. I—I’m sorry for that.”  
  
Sansa gave her a puzzled smile, bid her goodbye, and left the room as quickly as she could. When she made her way back to the waiting room, she felt drained.   
  
Arya must have noticed because as soon as she crossed the threshold her little sister took Sansa’s hand and flashed her keys.  
  
“Do you know what time it is?”  
  
“Absolutely no idea.”  
  
“It’s later.”  
  
Later apparently meant driving to a tattoo parlor, discovering that Arya, despite being only sixteen and a half, had acquired a fake ID, and being sweet-talked into getting matching wolf tattoos on their arms.   
  
“We need to do this!” Arya insisted.  
  
“No, actually, we really don’t.”  
  
“C’mon, Sansa. Be brave!”  
  
“I am brave.”  
  
“Be bold.”  
  
“Have you seen my shoe collection?”  
  
“Be spontaneous!”  
  
“And live to regret it?”  
  
“I’m talking about matching wolves, Sansa? How could you ever regret a sign that you’re part of the pack?”  
  
Sansa could not convince Arya that her scheme was a poor one, but she did at least get Arya to agree to a smaller, less menacing design. They settled on the outline of the sigil from the centuries-old Stark family crest. Arya’s asked for her teeth to be a little more pronounced, and Sansa asked for the eye of her wolf’s profile to be red and for the fur to look perfectly combed, so she could honor both Ghost and Lady.  
  
Arya wanted to get hers on her arm, but Sansa didn’t want hers to be as easily visible.  
  
“Just don’t get it on your hip,” Arya insisted. “Don’t be that girl.”  
  
Sansa rolled her eyes. “What’s so wrong with being that girl?” But in the end, she chose her left shoulder blade.  
  
The process was long and painful—more painful than Sansa had supposed. She gripped Arya’s hand the entire time, doing her best not to curse her little sister out with each sting of the needle.  
  
“Remind me never to accept a gift from you,” she said with gritted teeth.  
  
“It’ll be over soon. Every hurt is a lesson.”  
  
“I’m smart enough,” Sansa grumbled.   
  
Thirty minutes later, though, when the blood had been cleared away and the pain had numbed, Sansa stared at their tattoos in awe.   
  
“Worth it, huh?” Arya preened.  
  
“Oh, shut it,” replied Sansa, suppressing a smile and sneaking another look at her tattoo in the mirror. “You’re the one who’s telling Mom.”  
  
  
They were both punished for the rest of Sansa’s break, though the recent drama seemed to give them somewhat of a reprieve. Cat could not believe that they both had tarnished their beautiful skin, and Ned had agreed, though privately praised them for choosing the Stark sigil.  


Margaery had been beside herself when Sansa showed her. “Look at you, Sansa Stark, badass extraordinaire.”

Sansa had glowed under the praise.

  
When she returned to school, she felt like she was carrying a secret no one knew but her and her sister. She quite liked that feeling.   
  
College life was going well. She, Meera, and Brienne seemed to grow closer every day, and her classes became more and more interesting. When the spring semester ended, she was sad to leave the little family she’d created. But like Robb had said, it was all about balance. And though she was sad to leave her friends for a few months, she was overjoyed to be back with her family. After Robb’s college graduation, he had a few weeks before he needed to start getting ready for business school to spend relaxing. And the Stark siblings went hard.

They played every board game they owned, the watched every favorite film—‘A Dance with Dragons’ included, they ate their favorite meals and stayed up late telling the ghost stories Nan used to scare them with when they were little. It was a great summer—which made it bittersweet to go back to Riverrun to reunite with her friends.   
  
Sophomore year presented new challenges. After hearing about trafficking incidents at the nearby Frey University and a #MeToo scandal concerning a Professor Petyr Baelish in the Political Science department, Sansa launched herself into Take By the Night and women’s leadership groups. Brienne got involved by hosting free self-defense classes, and Meera designed rape whistles to pass out to students on campus.   
  
Through her work, Sansa became really good friends with a girl named Gilly, who admitted late one night that she’d been molested by her own father. That’s when Sansa started volunteering at Riverrun’s counseling center.  
  
Thinking she could do more, Sansa began to consider whether she should go into law, where maybe she could help to shape better policy for women and survivors of domestic and sexual abuse. Toward the end of her sophomore year, Sansa joined the pre-law society, and that’s where she met Dickon.  
  
She hadn’t been looking to start a new relationship. She had her friends and school and her family and her volunteer work. Apart from a one-time fumble with Podrick, which they’d both agreed was a mistake and he’d only recently been able to look her in the eye again, Sansa hadn’t had pursued much in terms of romance.  
  
And Dickon was a couple years older than her, already enrolled in the Riverrun law program and helping mentor younger students. And he was devastatingly handsome. Thick light brown hair, full lips, strong jaw, even stronger shoulders. His physique, combined with his general affability, reminded her a bit of Hercules from the Disney movie, and that was very dangerous.  
  
He’d revealed to her one afternoon as they were waiting in line for the free cookies that he’d been a swimmer in high school and kept it up to relieve stress.  
  
And as much as Sansa wanted to lick whatever stress he felt away, she was hesitant to give in too much to his flirtations. Dickon was sweet and considerate and had wonderfully sexy dimples.  
  
He made her heart skip sometimes, in a way she hadn’t felt since Edric. But her relationship with Edric had been so good—and it had ended so well. Could she really be so lucky again? She doubted it. Dickon made her nervous precisely because he seemed so safe. He was a protector, and Sansa didn’t want to feel like she needed protecting.  
  
But when he asked if he could have her number so he could call her over the summer, she gave it to him, figuring he wouldn’t remember to do so anyway.  
  
But he did. Several times...to the point that he called every few days. He didn’t monopolize her day, but he told her about how his internship was going and asked about her day. He loved to hear stories about Arya because he said he missed his own little sister.

His laugh was full, like she could hear it coming out of his throat. His voice was deep and sure, and it was easy to feel a bit lost in it.  
  
During these calls, she found out that he was a lot more than just devastatingly handsome. He told her how he wanted to be a lawyer so he could work as an advocate for the environment and how he stressed about what his super conservative dad would say when he explained he wasn’t going to go into corporate law. He seemed genuinely supportive of her desire to help women and survivors of abuse and told her how much he wished his sister had a role model like her.  
  
He talked about his older brother, too, who was a medic for the Night’s Watch and how much he worried about him.  
  
And hearing Dickon say that, Sansa felt she could tell him she knew someone in the Night’s Watch too. And that he’d gotten badly wounded and was still in rehab last she heard. And how she’d worried about him all the time, but particularly on late quiet nights when she didn’t know if he was alive or dead. And how finding out he’d been wounded was horrifying, but horribly, she found she was a tiny bit grateful for it, because now she knew he was safe.  
  
And one night, while she was taking a walk to clear her mind after having visited Ghost for the majority of the day, when they were on the subject of the Night’s Watch and he finally asked what Jon was to her, she let out a long sigh.  
  
“I thought maybe I could have loved him, but he didn’t feel the same. When we could have had a chance, he decided to leave.”  
  
“Well, then, he’s an idiot.”  
  
Sansa gave a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

“I really mean it, Sansa. You’re amazing. Smart, driven, kind. I love talking to you.”  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, grinning like a fool.

“Yeah,” he said. “And I might not be as smart as my brother Sam, but I’m no idiot.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I mean, if I had a shot with you, Sansa, I wouldn’t be fool enough to throw it away.”  
  
“Who’s to say you don’t?”  
  
“Are you saying that I do?”  
  
Sansa inhaled sharply. “I’m saying that when I get back to Riverrun there’s a bakery on Third Street I really like that makes lovely lemon scones.”  
  
“I happen to love scones.”

“Good. Then it’s a date.”  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a minute. I went on a trip and then I got sick! And generally have been very busy. We are closer to the end now than to the beginning, and though I generally have an idea of where we're going, there's still a bit to figure out!  
> I hope you like Dickon! Though really, is anyone better than Edric?  
> Also, I'm a huge fan of the idea that Bran is really into intersectional feminism. Enjoy!


	14. Time with Sam

Dickon was a good boyfriend, and Sansa cared about him a lot. They started slow; Sansa wasn’t sure she was ready for a big commitment, and she had good friends she didn’t want to blow off for some guy. Meera, Brienne, and Gilly were too important.

 

But Dickon was all right with that. He was busy with law school himself and his pro-bono work at the Riverrun Center for Climate Change. They met when they could and started becoming more serious after a couple of months. Dickon was good company; he was a great listener and was more open about his feelings than any guy she’d ever met. Sansa felt like she could talk about things to him she normally kept to herself or told to her closest friends.

 

The sex was good, too. Sansa had only ever been with Edric, and they were just hormonal teenagers. Dickon was older, taller, and stronger. He could lift her up bear her weight with ease. Sansa loved to run her fingers over the muscles in his back as he whispered filthy things in her ear.

 

She hadn’t expected Dickon to be so good at talking dirty, but it was quite enjoyable to find out. 

 

They were a good match; they had similar interests, strong ties to family, proximity, and mutual affection all on their side. 

 

And when it came time for her to start seriously looking at which law schools she wanted to apply to, he was searching for jobs. They’d order in food and sit on the couch with their laptops, taking breaks to have shower sex or watch really bad reality tv. 

 

A few days after their one-year anniversary of officially dating, Dickon called while Sansa was getting ready to go meet her friends for lunch.

 

“Hey, good-lookin’, what’s up?”

 

“Sansa, hey, do you have plans Sunday?”

 

“Hang on one sec.” She grabbed her planner out of her purse. “Midterm on Monday morning, but it’s for Equal Protection Law. I should be okay with just an hour or two of review. Why?”

 

“My brother is gonna be in town. The Night’s Watch gave him a couple days of leave. I was wondering if you’d like to meet him.”

 

“Sam’s got leave? That’s wonderful!” She could sense his smile over the phone. “I’d love to meet him.”

 

“Great! Would dinner be okay? Only a couple of hours—we won’t keep you out late before a midterm. Sam would be horrified; he’s such a teacher’s pet.”

 

“Hey! Don’t knock the teacher’s pets of the world. You are dating one, you know.”

 

Dickon laughed. “Seven? I’ll cook?”

 

“Sure. I’ll bring dessert.”

 

“Something other than lemon cakes?”

 

“No promises!”

 

More laughter. “I’ll see you later, my lemon queen. Love you!”

 

Sansa squeaked goodbye back in response and then hung up the phone.

 

 

“You did what?” Meera asked when Sansa told her friends about it over lunch.

 

Sansa sighed. “I panicked! He’s never said that before, and I didn’t know what to say. So I just, I don’t know, hung up.” She cradled her face in her hands. “I’m an idiot.”

 

“No you’re not!” Gilly insisted at the same time Brienne snorted.

 

“What should I do?”

 

“Well, do you love him?”

 

Sansa looked at Meera. “Maybe?” 

 

Brienne snorted again.

 

“What? I don’t know. We’ve only just started dating.”

 

“It’s been over a year,” Meera reminded her.

 

“Yeah, but we’re both busy. He’s in law school, and I’m a polisci/gender studies double major. And I’ve got you guys and Pre-Law society and—“

 

“Sansa, busy people can still be in love,” Meera interrupted her. “Just look at Jaime and Brienne. She basically started running residential life since graduating, on top of getting her Master’s, and Jaime is training for the Olympics in fencing.”

 

Sansa sighed. “Yeah, well, Jaime and Brienne are soul mates. I knew it ever since they first met, and he offered to give her one of his swords.”

 

Brienne rolled her eyes, but Sansa could still detect a blush. 

 

“This isn’t about Jaime and me. This is about you and Dickon. Meera is right, Sansa. You two have been dating for a while, and it’s completely understandable he told you he loves you. What are you going to do about it?”

 

Sansa refolded her napkin across her lap. “Right now? Eat lunch.”

 

Brienne huffed, and Meera jeered. But Gilly reached out and patted Sansa’s arm. “Take your time,” she said softly. “Men don’t deserve our love just because they proclaim their own.”

 

 

Sansa spent the next few days ruminating over Gilly’s words of wisdom. 

 

It was still on her mind when she and Arya had their weekly phone call. Arya was doing an exchange program for her first year of college. A school in Braavos had an excellent fencing program, and Arya had gotten a scholarship to attend. Even though Sansa spent the majority of the year in Riverrun, she still seemed to feel her sister’s absence and had insisted they talk on the phone once a week. Arya had complained, saying that an hour was too long, but they never ran out of things to discuss. It was comforting to hear her voice.

 

But Sansa wasn’t really listening to Arya’s explanation of how she’d stuck it to the Waif, her assigned fencing partner.

 

“When did you know you were in love with Gendry?” she asked suddenly, cutting Arya off mid-sentence.

 

“Huh?”

 

“When—what was the moment when you realized you loved Gendry?”

 

“I don’t know, Sans. I don’t write these things down.”

 

“If you had to say—what made you realize?“

 

Arya huffed in exasperation. “A couple years ago. Gendry had come over to our house the first time. I don’t think he realized we had money. Actually, he admitted as much—said I dressed like an urchin so he never realized. And then he got all weird and started calling me m’lady as a joke. And I told him to quit it because that shit was annoying. And he just went, ‘as m’lady commands.’ So I shoved him, and he laughed and his eyes did this crinkle thing. And then he told me if I had to be a princess, I’d be a warrior one like Nymeria of Dorne.”

 

“The character from ‘A Dance with Dragons?’” Sansa asked excitedly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Gendry’s seen ‘A Dance with Dragons?’”

 

“It’s not just for nerds, you know. There’s battles and stuff. Cool sword fights.”

 

“I know!” Sansa squealed. “And so that’s when you knew?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess...if I had to pick.”

 

Sansa sighed. “That’s really lovely actually.”

 

“Are you crying?”

 

“No.”

 

“Sansa?”

 

“What? It’s sweet.”

 

“Yeah, well, I guess. Whatever.” Arya sighed. “Can we talk about something else?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“What are you doing this weekend?”

 

“Dickon wants me to meet his brother.”

 

Arya laughed. “What’s his name—Dickoff?”

 

 

Dickon kissed Sansa’s cheek when he let her into his apartment, took her bag filled with lemon cakes, and helped her with her coat.

 

“Hey, thanks for coming.”

 

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss the chance to meet your brother. Where is he?”

 

“Couch. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

 

Sam stood up as soon as she walked into the room. He looked almost nothing like Dickon. He was overweight, pale, and a bit feeble-looking, as though he wouldn’t last long in a war. It surprising that he’d been serving the Night’s Watch for over four years. But any doubts she had were erased when she looked at his face. Sansa immediately liked his eyes; they looked kind. She could tell he probably had a good bedside manner with eyes like those.

 

“Sam, this is my girlfriend Sansa. Sansa, this is my brother Sam.”

 

Sansa reached for his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. Dickon talks about you all the time. His brave medic brother in the Night’s Watch.”

 

Sam chortled nervously. “I wouldn’t say brave, but it’s good to meet you too, Sansa. Dickon talks about you too.”

 

“Good things, I hope.”

 

“Well, from what I hear, you are a rather brave person yourself.”

 

Sansa smiled. “It’s easier to be brave when you’re part of a pack.”

 

Sam laughed. “I hope you’re speaking metaphorically!”

 

“Sansa’s family lives close to a wolf reservation.” A timer started ringing in the kitchen. “I have to go check on the roast. You two keep chatting.” He kissed Sansa on the cheek and went toward the beeping.

 

“So how many days are you in town?”Sansa asked.

 

“Just one more. It’s a shame it isn’t longer, but I’ve got to go if I’m going to fit in a visit to our parents and Tally.” Sam grinned nervously. “I’m sorry, but can you clarify something for me—you live near a wolf reservation?”

 

“Twenty minutes away. My family really likes the outdoors—and being from the North—that includes wolves. My dad’s a member of the reservation, and I’ve volunteered there over the years.”

 

“Tell him about Ghost!” Dickon called from the kitchen.

 

“Ghost?” Sam asked, sounding concerned.

 

Sansa laughed. “Your brother is being purposefully misleading. Ghost is the name of the wolf I always visit.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “He’s not got red eyes and white fur, has he?”

 

“How’d you know that?” Sansa asked, confused but pleased. “Have you visited the reservation before?”

 

“No, I’ve never been, but I’ve seen a picture. I knew you looked familiar. Jon had that photo of you, him, and Ghost beside his cot since my first day.”

 

Sansa’s heart stuttered. “Wh—he did?” She took a breath. “Wait—you know Jon Snow?”

 

Sam grinned. “He’s like my brother. How’s he doing? I haven’t heard from him much since he started rehab. Horrible what happened—“

 

Sansa’s hands were shaking so she forced them underneath her legs. “I don’t know. I visited him in the hospital, but we haven’t talked since. Jon and I haven’t really spoken in a couple years.”

 

“But what about the letters?”

 

“Letters?”

 

“All the letters he wrote—“

 

“What are you—I never got any letters.”

 

Sam’s face turned beet red. “I don’t think I should have said anything. Please forget it.”

 

“But what do you mean about the—“

 

“Ready to eat?” Dickon called. 

 

Sam shot to his feet. “I’m starved,” he announced. “Anything I can do it help?”

 

The food was quite good, but Sansa mostly shuffled her dinner around her plate. Sam was smart enough not to bring up Jon again, but Sansa felt rattled nonetheless.

 

Luckily, Dickon and Sam had so much to talk about and catch up on that she hoped they didn’t notice how quiet and rude she was being. 

 

She did engage more when Dickon brought up the subject of books. “Sansa’s a huge reader—just like you, Sam.”

 

“Oh, that’s wonderful! What are some of your favorites?”

 

“‘Emma.’”

 

“I love Jane Austen,” Sam gushed. “My favorite’s ‘Mansfield Park.’”

 

“That’s a good one. Underrated—probably because Fanny and Edmund were cousins. I love Elizabeth Gaskell and Maya Angelou, Virginia Woolf and Thomas Hardy. I’m a big fan of Arthurian legend and Robin Hood. A lot of medieval stuff actually.”

 

“Oh, so you must know ‘A Dance with Dragons.’”

 

“Those books are my favorite actually. I reread them every couple of years.”

 

“Me too. And rewatch the BBC miniseries. Who’s your favorite character?”

 

“Aemon the Dragonknight, of course,” Sansa replied. “Yours?”

 

“Garizon the Wise.”

 

“Ah, the Archmaester. Good choice.”

 

“He’s a bit of a legend. I read in an old book I found when I was younger that—“

 

Dickon coughed after a few minutes of Sam’s explanation, and Sam chuckled nervously. “Sorry, got a bit carried away.”

 

“That’s all right.”

 

“Dickson’s still never seen read ‘A Dance with Dragons’ or seen the series.”

 

Sansa gasped in horror, half mocking, half sincere. “You haven’t?”

 

Dickon shrugged. “It is a bit long and a little silly. I mean, what kind of a world has winters that last for decades?”

 

“But that’s because of magic.”

 

Dickon laughed. “It’s just not really my thing. I’m glad that you both like it, though.” 

 

Sansa offered him a smile and went back to poking at her food.

 

After the lemon cakes were mostly gone and the dishes were cleared away, Sansa didn’t have to beg excuses. Dickon, recalling her midterm the next day, was ready to call it an early night.

 

“Tell Sam I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer,” she requested at the door.

 

Dickon pulled her in for a kiss. When they parted, he kept one hand on her pack and touched her cheek with the other. “You feeling okay, Sans? Will you be okay for your exam?”

 

She nodded. “I think it’s just a headache. Probably too much time on my computer from all the studying.”

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

She shook her head. 

 

“Love you.”

 

Sansa kissed him. “Good night.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for commenting. Life isn’t busier so updates might take a bit longer! But thanks for sticking with me.


	15. Time with Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated. Life has been very busy, but working on this story again has improved my overall mood and given me something to look forward to! So I will continue to write more, even if the updates won't be as quick as I want them to be!

Once her midterms were finished, all Sansa wanted to do was leave campus as soon as she could. She boarded her train with such eagerness that the ticket collector seemed a bit concerned.  
  
“Are you alright, miss?” the old man had asked, not unkindly.  
  
“Yes,” she said with a polite smile. “Just eager to get home.”  
  
“Where’s that?”  
  
“Winterfell,” she replied.  
  
“Ah, a Northern girl. What’s a lass like you doing so far South?”  
  
Sansa let out a sigh, but was saved from having to give an answer by a question from the next customer. She waved goodbye to the man and hurried to find a decent window seat.  
  
Throughout the train ride, she tried but failed to distract herself by answering neglected emails on her phone and flipping through the fashion magazines she’d bought; the latest couture couldn’t ease her antsy fidgeting and neither could boring administrative emails. So instead she turned to the window to watch the landscape pass by, her heart beating just a bit faster the further north the train went.  
  
When she finally stepped onto the station at Wintertown, the chill in the November air made her shiver. But she was grinning as she watched her breath form small clouds of white and gray wisps. The air felt crisp, like air ought to.   
  
She rolled her suitcase through the crowd, searching for the exit. When she spotted her father waiting for her by one of the brick columns, tears welled in her eyes. Beaming, she hurried toward him.  
  
“Father!”  
  
Ned swooped Sansa into a strong hug, and in his arms she felt like a young girl again.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” Sansa told him, her voice cracking.  
  
“I’ve missed you too, little one. It’s not been the same without the whole pack together. But now you’re home, everything is just as it should be.”  
  
He kissed the top of her head and took her bags for her, and Sansa was reminded that the world still had true knights.  
  
She filled him in on how the travel had gone and on what she thought about her performance on her exams.

Ned did not seem overly concerned about Sansa’s academic performance, for no one put more pressure on her than Sansa did herself to do well in school. “You’ve always been so motivated, Sansa,” Ned said with pride. “I wish that would have passed on to Rickon.”

“Still having trouble?”

“Your mother and I are at Winterfell Middle School every other week,” Ned told her. “To be honest, I think they should give us a parking spot, considering how many kids we’ve sent through.”

By the time they got into his truck, the conversation had turned to the situation back at home.  
  
Sansa peppered him with questions so she’d be ready for what awaited her. Arya had already slept off her jet-lag, so she wouldn’t be a complete ghoul. Bran was still tinkering with his wheels to make them work better on snow—so she needed to watch out for puddles everywhere. Rickon was still grounded for setting Mr. Luwin’s pumpkins on fire on Halloween, and Robb had been dodging everyone’s questions phone calls of late so was expected to have some bad news he did not want to share.  
  
“And how’s Mom dealing with Thanksgiving prep so far?”  
  
Ned gave her a secretive smile.  
  
“That bad?”  
  
“You are as much needed as you are wanted, daughter mine.”  
  
When they arrived home, she heard her siblings before she saw them. The house smelled like dinner—beef stew with peas and onions—and the warmth of the heat engulfed her after the brisk walk from the driveway.  
  
“Look who’s here!” Ned called.  
  
“Sansa!”  
“Sansa!”  
“Sansa!”  
  
She was nearly tackled to the ground by Rickon.  
  
“You’re home!” Rickon screeched.  
  
“I’m home!” Sansa replied with equal enthusiasm.  
  
She planted kisses on his face, which made him scowl and her laugh.  
  
She then reached out to Bran and all but knocked his wheelchair over. “My genius brother!” she sang.  
  
“Oi! What does that make me?”  
  
Sansa turned around to find Robb. “My older brother!”   
  
He, too, groaned as she kissed his cheek.  
  
“Where’s Arya?”  
  
But as she asked, her little sister appeared down the stairs, stomping in bulky combat boots.  
  
“Arya!” Sansa sang and threw her arms around her. “Look at you! You cut your hair!”  
  
Arya had cut her hair into a short choppy bob that fell just beneath her eyes. “Do you like it?”  
  
“I love it,” Sansa replied. She spotted some ink behind Arya’s ear.  
  
“Gods, did you get a new tattoo?”  
  
“Do you like it?”  
  
“I love it!”  
  
They all began to speak at once, until Cat called them into the kitchen.  
  
Sansa found her mother behind the counter with a somewhat frantic look.   
  
“Sansa!” she exclaimed. “Thank the Gods you’re here.” She forced a meat thermometer into Sansa’s hand. “Here, I need you to check to the roast for me.”

A minute later, Sansa had washed her hands and was wearing one of the aprons she’d soon herself back in high school that had pumpkins and apples patterned all over it. As she was throwing a loaf of bread into the oven to get it nice and warm before serving, Cat scooped her into a hug.

“You grow more beautiful every day,” her mother said.

“You’re just saying that because I’m the only one who helps.” Most of her siblings subscribed to the philosophy of don’t be good at something you don’t want to do.

Cat sighed. “At least the only one who I can trust to help and do the job well. Do you remember when Bran volunteered to bake a cake two years ago?”

Remembering that catastrophe, and Bran’s disbelief that he could understand high-level physics but not how to crack an egg properly, they both broke into giggles that only faded when the fire alarm went off from all the rising steam coming off the oven.   
  
Dinner that night was loud and happy, as was Thanksgiving.  
  
Sansa peeled potatoes and diced onions till she thought her hands might go numb, but they managed to feed over 25 people—even more than usual, as Gendry and his mother had come, as well as Theon and his sister Yara. And Robb had unexpectedly brought his new and apparently serious girlfriend Jeyne Westerling, about whom none of them had heard anything.  
  
“Do you think she’s pregnant?” Arya had asked Sansa when they were sent into the linen closet to grab more napkins.  
  
“Arya!”  
  
“Her shirt looks a bit roomy. Did you see that puffy part at the belly?”  
  
“People dress casual for Thanksgiving,” said Sansa, trying to be nice and set a good example. “It is a holiday about eating.” She looked pointedly at Arya’s too-big leggings ensemble.  
  
“But c’mon, didn’t you see that bulge?” Arya goaded.  
  
“Old Nan saw that bulge, and she’s past her eighties!” Sansa hissed and then clasped her hand over her mouth in horror at what she’d just said.  
  
Arya cackled. “Why would Robb be so stupid to introduce her to everyone on Thanksgiving?”  
  
“Maybe he thought it’d be a good buffer? I mean, we can’t exactly ask him, in front of the turkey, can we?”  
  
“He’s a moron,” said Arya, looking very much like her birthday had come early. “This will be so fun.”  
  
“Oh, Arya, please don’t do anything to Jeyne.”  
  
“What about Robb?”  
  
“After Jeyne leaves, he’s fair game,” Sansa proclaimed. “But if that girl is knocked up with Robb’s baby, she’s suffered enough.”  
  
Arya feigned gagging. “What a Thanksgiving,” she observed with glee.  
  
“What a Thanksgiving,” Sansa agreed with a sigh.  
  
They didn’t tease Robb too much with Jeyne around, but the teasing was merciless as soon as she left—only stopping when Ned asked to have a private chat with his eldest.  
  
“Is Robb gonna get grounded?” Rickon asked.  
  
“Worse,” Bran said sagely. “I suspect he’s about to be forced to finally become an adult.”  
  
“That sucks,” Rickon observed.  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Sansa did the dishes with her mother, who seemed to be taking out her frustrations on the good china.  
  
“Watch it, Mom. You’ll break the plate.”  
  
Catelyn turned to her oldest daughter. “Sansa, promise me you’ll be smarter than Robb.”  
  
Sansa grinned. “Aren’t I always?”  
  
She decided to let things cool down at the Stark household and went out the next morning for some Black Friday shopping. Retail therapy had always been Sansa’s preferred method of cheering herself up, pampering herself, or really just spending a Tuesday. She bought a pair of classy drop earrings, a beautiful suit and skirt combination at an upscale designer shop for a fraction of the cost, a gorgeous chess set for Bran, a new pair of mile-high combat boots for Arya that were electric blue and absolutely ridiculous, and some sweet infant onesies with ducks and baby elephants on them—just in case she’d be attending a baby shower in the near future.   
  
Armed with lemonade and a cinnamon sugar pretzel, she left the mall and went to the wolf preservation.  
  
Combing her fingers through Ghost’s fur and feeling the warm heavy weight of him against her was exactly what she needed. “You are such a good boy,” she cooed while rubbing behind Ghost’s ears.  
  
“You’ll spoil him if you continue on like that,” Mr. Mormont warned.  
  
“He could use some spoiling. I don’t see him enough.”  
  
“You almost done with the South? When you coming home for good?”  
  
Sansa paused a moment before answering. “I’ve applied to law programs all around Westeros. I’m not sure where I’ll be next year.”  
  
“You know, Winterfell U has a good law program. No reason to travel the country when you can get a good education in your own backyard.”  
  
“Yeah,” she replied, thinking it over. She smiled at Mr. Mormont. “But just think how spoiled Ghost would be then.”

Mr. Mormont rolled his eyes. “You’d think he was a dog they way you treat that beast.”  
  
Her time with Ghost lasted for another hour before she needed to head home to help with dinner.  
  
She kissed his face, and Ghost silently purred.   
  
“I hate leaving you,” she told him. “You think after a few years I’d be better at it. But no. I still cry every time.”  
  
Ghost gave her such a sympathetic look that Sansa felt like he’d really understood her.  
  
“Winterfell U does have a good law program,” she murmured under her breath.  
  
After dinner, Sansa was losing spectacularly to Rickon and Bran in a game of Mario Party — she always played Princess Peach, Rickon Wario, Bran Yoshi— when Arya barged in.  
  
“Wow, Sansa, you still massively suck at this game.”  
  
“Oh, quiet!” she hissed. “I’m doing my best.”  
  
“And your best is losing to the computer Waluigi.”  
  
Sansa pressed pause. “What is it?”  
  
“Do you want to go to The Bear and the Maiden Fair with me and Gendry in a bit?”  
  
Sansa sighed.   
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, I just woke up so early today—“  
  
“Your choice.”  
  
“And I’m still tired from last night.”  
  
“Your fault for being so helpful.”  
  
“And I don’t know if I can stay up that late.”  
  
“We’ll get you some caffeine.”  
  
“But—“  
  
“Oh, c’mon, Sans. You’re leaving soon, and I won’t see you for months. Come out with us. Just a few drinks.”  
  
Sansa bit her lip. “Don’t they card at The Bear and the Maiden Fair?”  
  
“Yeah, so?”  
  
“Well, last I checked, you were still only 19.”  
  
Arya rolled her eyes. “Gendry knows a guy. C’mon, it’ll be fun. There’s going to be dancing.”  
  
“I do like dancing,” Sansa mused.

“And you can have an excuse to get dressed up.”

“I do like doing that.”

“And wear your new earrings,” Arya pressed.

“Oh, those are so cute,” Sansa sighed.  
  
“And I already told Gendry to pick us up in twenty.”  
  
“Minutes?”  
  
“No, decades.”  
  
Sansa gave her younger sister a frosty look she’d learned from her mother.  
  
“Gods, yes, minutes.”  
  
Sansa inspected her ensemble of warm gray sweatpants and Robb’s old sweater from high school.  
  
“I need to change.”  
  
Arya grinned impishly and gestured her head toward the paused screen. “I’ll fill in for you. Maybe you’ll finally win a mini game.”  
  
Sansa hurled her controller at Arya, who had the audacity to catch it easily.   
  
As she made her way to the stairs, she heard her sister muttering complaints about her character choice.  
  
“Princess Peach is a feminist icon, and I will not hear any differently!” Sansa called as she climbed the stairs. “You can still wear dresses and be powerful!”  
  
“I know! I know!” Arya shouted back.   
  
“This is the hill I’m prepared to die on!” Sansa sang.  
  
She put on a pair of navy tights, a green plaid skirt, and a matching sweater. The light makeup she’d put on earlier had held up, but Sansa swiped on just a bit more mascara and coated her lips with just a hint of lip stain.  
  
Old habits died hard, and she snuck into her parents’ room to spritz on her mother’s perfume. She found her father on the stairs.  
  
“Going out?” he asked.  
  
She nodded. “Arya wants to go to The Bear and the Maiden Fair.”  
  
“Don’t they—“ Ned began, but then he sighed. “I’m sure your sister has a way in all worked out.” He kissed Sansa on the top of her head. “Call if you need a ride home.”  
  
“We might be our late. I don’t want to drag you out of bed.”  
  
“It won’t be me.” Ned’s eyes glimmered. “Robb will be more than happy to come pick up his sisters and learn the importance of staying sober and being a responsible parent.”  
  
She and her father shared a look that was interrupted by Arya hollering her name.  
  
“Gendry’s here!” she screeched. “Let’s go!”  
  
“I’m being summoned.”  
  
Ned smiled. “Have fun, Sansa.”  
  
“Thanks, I’ll try.”  
  
Sansa should not have been surprised that Arya, who looked even younger than she was, was nevertheless right that she’d have no trouble getting into the bar, but she was still impressed when Arya handed her a lemon drop and a ginger ale.  
  
“How?”  
  
“I told you. Gendry knows a guy.”  
  
“But it’s illegal.”  
  
Arya shrugged. “Lommy doesn’t care.”  
  
“What’s a Lommy?”  
  
Arya motioned for Sansa to grab her drink. “Cheers!”  
  
She downed nearly half her beer while Sansa sipped daintily from her drink.  
  
“Oh, you can do better than that.” Arya observed.  
  
Sansa took a larger sip. “There. Happy?”  
  
“Not nearly.” Arya looked to the bar. “Lommy! We are going to need some shots.”  
  
“How many?”  
  
“Eight.”  
  
An hour later, Sansa had very much forgotten how tired she was as she, Arya, and Gendry danced to loud pop music. She couldn’t quite remember how many drinks she’d had, but she knew that Arya and Gendry had had more. Gendry was actually a good dancer, which she had not expected, as he was normally a bit stiff and tough. Maybe it was the fact that Arya was so much shorter than him, and so they had to find inventive ways to dance together.

Sansa was quite happy to stand beside them and dance along. She had gotten quite hoarse from shouting along to the lyrics, but she was grinning like a loon anyway.  
  
To her welcome surprise, she’d run into Loras, Margaery’s brother, and his new boyfriend Renly. After another round of shots, they’d all gone back to dancing, and Sansa laughed as the couple cooed over how attractive Gendry was.  
  
“He’s called the Bull!” Arya informed them. “For a reason!”  
  
“You did good, little Stark,” Loras said. “Very good!”  
  
“He did better!” Sansa shouted. “Look how beautiful my sister is! And so talented! And just the best. I’m so proud. Arya, you know I love you, right?”  
  
“I love you too!”  
  
“Let’s move back to Winterfell,” Sansa said. “I’m so tired of being so far away. Let’s come back—and—and we can be roommates!”  
  
“YES!” exclaimed Arya, punching the air.   
  
But no further discussion was had, as a new song started playing—“The Dornishman’s Wife (Remix Version)”— and they all started screeching and stamping to the beat.  
  
An hour later, the effects of the alcohol, despite its copious amount, had begun to wear off, and Sansa was starting to feel tired. Loras and Renly had gone to the bathroom over twenty minutes ago and had never returned. Sansa, knowing Margaery, suspected they would not come back.  
  
“My feet hurt,” she whined to Arya.  
  
“Mine too.”  
  
Gendry leaned over to let Arya climb into his back.  
  
Sansa frowned. “We shouldn’t have drinked—drank—drunk—hah! grammar! Suck it, English! I know my past participles. I’m a fucking Queen!”   
  
“Sansa!”  
  
“We should get water.”  
  
Gendry nodded and started toward the bar.  
  
“We should call Robb,” Sansa announced suddenly.  
  
“Robb?” Arya asked.  
  
“To take us home. Gendry is too drunk to drive.”  
  
“S’ too loud. Won’t hear anything.”  
  
Sansa tried to respond, but her brain couldn’t think of any response.  
  
“I’ll text him,” Arya said as Gendry returned with water and struggled to make his way onto a barstool. She pulled out her phone, and her whole face scrunched in concentration as she typed.  
  
“He’s coming!” She declared after a minute.  
  
Sansa cheered.   
  
They sipped their water and discussed the food they wanted to eat to sober up.  
  
“Pancakes,” Arya said.  
  
“Mmm,” Sansa agreed. “And bacon.”  
  
“Yes! And eggs.”  
  
“Fries,” Gendry volunteered. “And a cheeseburger.”

“Oh my god, yes, but with bacon.”

“Yes, and pancakes too. On the side.”  
  
Both Stark girls agreed that was the best option.  
  
“We should go to the Ice Shack,” Arya said. “Rob will take us.”  
  
“They have the best milkshakes,” Sansa sighed dreamily.  
  
“I’ve never been there,” Gendry said.  
  
The next ten minutes were spent by the two sisters trying to remember and describe everything on the menu to him. At last, Arya’s phone vibrated on the bar counter.  
  
“He’s here!”  
  
“Fries!” Gendry cheered.  
  
Sansa pulled on her coat and did her best to walk evenly out of the bar, Gendry and Arya ambling slowly and laughing behind her.  
  
They opened the back seat of Robb’s red Mustang and collapsed inside. Sansa fumbled with the handle, and with some muttering was able to fall with some grace into the front passenger seat.  
  
The dazed grin on her lips died when she turned to her left and saw that it was not Robb sitting behind the wheel.  
  
“Jon?”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Don't fret-- I have the next chapter more or less drafted, and I will have it out soon!


	16. Time with Fidgeting Hands

Hey 

“Jon!” Arya screeched from the back. “What are you doing here? Where’s Robb?”

Jon turned to look at Arya. “He and I were hanging out, but he’d had a few beers when you texted, and you know I don’t—well, not since—” He swallowed strongly. “Anyway, I said I’d come pick you up. Robb lent me his car.”

“What happened to yours?” Sansa almost said, and might have, had she not been so overwhelmed with shock at seeing him beside her.

Jon moved his head back to face the steering wheel. “He only said Arya and Gendry. I didn’t know—“ he trailed off as his eyes flicked to Sansa.

Or he wouldn’t have come, was the unspoken message.

Sansa felt her heartbeat pick up with each second his eyes were on her. Although she was merrily dizzy with drunkenness only a couple of minutes earlier, she felt as though someone had doused her in water.

  
She didn’t like the feeling of being under his gaze and not knowing what he was thinking. Sometimes, late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she had imagined what it would be like to see Jon again – when he wasn’t in a hospital bed. But in all her imaginings, she had never been drinking so heavily or so sweaty from dancing.

  
She resisted the urge to pat down her hair or swipe at the eyeliner she was sure had smudged. There was no need to look nice for him anymore, she reminded herself. Keeping her eyes glued forward, she wrestled with her seatbelt until it finally clicked.

“Seatbelts back there?”

Gendry and Arya murmured and groaned, but a few moments later after some rustling and giggles Gendry grunted that they were good.

Jon nodded. “Good. Safety first.” He sighed. “I’ll just, drive you home then.”

For all the talk of fries and burgers, neither Arya nor Gendry mentioned anything about the Ice Shack, for which Sansa was grateful. She didn’t want to do anything to make this trip any longer than it had to be. She also could not stomach the thought of eating anything now, when her entire body felt like it had been taken over with nerves.

But even though she was glad there was no talk of the Ice Shack, she was more anxious about the lack of talk altogether. From a quick peek into the back seat, she discovered that Arya was all but asleep as she rested against Gendry’s shoulder, and he was practically snoring.

The traitors. Sleeping while she had to deal with Jon alone in the front. She wished she could feign sleep and join them, but her fidgeting hands would give her away.

For a few minutes, Sansa sat stiffly, determined not to look at Jon or speak. It was terribly rude. But she couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t make her angry or tearful. And when should she be the one to speak? To make him feel less awkward? She desperately didn’t want to care what he felt.

By the fidgeting of her hands, she knew she was going to break soon, but then Jon spoke first when they settled in behind a line of cars at a light. His voice was so soft she would have missed it, had not she been so tense and aware of his every movement.

“Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

She couldn’t answer for a moment—surprised by how mundane the question was. But then, strangely, she thought about a networking event she had attended and the advice Cersei Lannister, one of the most formidable professors she had ever known, had given her about dealing with men you’d rather avoid: Never let them see your weakness. Be a pretty bird for them all to gaze upon and try to encage. Then, when it’s time, gauge out their eyes and fly away.

She’d thought it was rather pessimistic advice—from a woman who’d always struck her as embittered. But there was some truth to it, even if she didn’t like it. Sansa would never again be a little dove, the way Cersei would have liked, but she could be strong, and over the years, she had been getting better at masking her feelings and at wearing her courtesy like knights wore steel.

  
“Yes, it was very nice,” she said in a clipped, but courteous voice. Sansa smoothed out the hem of her skirt and wished that it covered more of her thighs. “How was yours?” Politeness forced her to ask.

“Good,” replies Jon, tapping against the wheel and staring at the traffic in front of them. “Quiet,” he added. “With just me and Mom.”

In the past, Sansa might have taken the initiative to invite Jon and his mom over, but the heavy silence between them seemed to suggest that they both knew that was no longer a real option.

“It was good to see Robb tonight,” Jon continued. “We haven’t been the best at keeping in touch. He’s—he’s had a lot going on.”

“A baby on the way,” Sansa almost wanted to stay, but instead she just hummed noncommittally.

As the cars ahead of them began to move, they reached the intersection just as the light switched from yellow to red.

“How—how are you? I’ve wondered—Arya, she tells me little bits and pieces, but never—“

He was looking at her, really looking at her now. And Sansa could not help but to turn and look back at him.

The sight made her catch her breath, because even after all these years he was still Jon.

Still wearing black and smelling too good. In the years since she had seen him, he had filled out. He’d never been that scrawny, but she could tell that there was more muscle to him, even underneath all his layers. He was wearing a coat she recognized as Robb’s, and she could not help but wonder—despite herself—what had happened to the jacket she’d gifted him so many years ago.  
She looked to his face to chase the thought away.

  
His hair was tied back into a bun. Sansa had always been somewhat indifferent to that fashion trend on men, but, maddeningly, on Jon it not only worked—it was dead attractive. It drew attention to his cheekbones and his eyes, which were tired, but nevertheless soft and pleading.

Sansa looked away. “I’m good,” she said finally. “I like school. I have nice friends.”

“I’m glad.”

She frowned. She hated that she still cared about his opinion. Her life at school was so separate from her life at home; it was something of her own that she’d fought for. Her time at Riverrun was proof that she was no longer the stupid, trusting girl she was. And yet, here she was sitting in a car with Jon.

  
She wished Gilly, Meera, or Brienne were here to bring her strength and wisdom and to remind her of the woman she’d become.

She turned to study the traffic and wondered how there could still possibly be so many cars on the road this late. Perhaps many other people had gone out drinking; she’d read once that the holidays were horrible for bringing out alcoholic tendencies. Perhaps because they reminded people of things from their past they’d rather forget.

They were stuck at another light. “What are you studying?”

“Politics and, uh, Gender Studies. I’m hoping to go to law school actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, a bit defensively, even though he sounded more surprised than dismissive.

“That’s—that’s really great, Sansa. I’m happy you’re—“

Sansa stopped listening. In the backseat, both Arya and Gendry were still dozing, and it was just too much to be in the car with him, with the heat cranked up, and his voice so sweet.

There was so much she wanted to ask him about the past—why he stopped talking to her, why he dated Ygritte, why he’d led her to believe her cared about her only to suddenly forget her.

And, to her surprise, there were so many things she wanted to know about him now—questions that perhaps she’d been wondering but had never allowed herself to ask truly.

Had he left the army for good? What was he planning to do next? Did he visit Ghost when she was gone?

And more personal still—Had his wounds healed? Had he killed anyone when he was up North? What was it like to almost die?

And then—Had he thought about her? Why did Sam know her name? Had Jon really written letters?

But instead, she folded her hands nearly across her lap and thought of something Gilly once told her: Someone else’s bad past behavior doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.

They pulled up the her house.

Sansa turned to Jon and cut off whatever he was saying. “Thank you very much for the ride. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

“It’s not a—“

But Sansa was already out of the car. She opened the door to the backseat. “Wake up,” she said, forcefully, but not unkindly, as she leaned over Gendry to prod Arya on the shoulder.

Her little sister opened her eyes slowly and gave her a tired smile.  
“You have to get up,” Sansa said, but Arya didn’t seem to have understood her.

“Sansa, you’re so pretty. You could be a princess—or a queen—like Alysanne from A Dance wi—”

“Thank you, but now isn’t the time. You’ve got to get up.”

“I’ll help,” Jon said from behind.

Sansa tried not to show how startled she’d been that he appeared so close to her and quickly moved out of his way.

“Jon!” Arya chirped. “When did you get here? Don’t you think Sansa is pretty?”

Sansa went to the other side of the car to avoid hearing his answer. She opened the passenger door and started grabbing Arya to get her out.

“Ouch! Your fingers are so bony!”

“That’s from all the knitting!” Sansa grumbled. “C’mon!”

She yanked Arya out of the car at the same time Jon was hoisting out Gendry.

It was slow moving up the driveway and around the path, but after a few minutes, Sansa had Arya propped against the front door and was only slightly sweating beneath her heavy winter coat. She fumbled with her keys, the sound of Jon behind her and grunting underneath Gendry’s weight making her lose her concentration.

At last, she got the door unlocked and open. She pushed Arya through and made room for Jon to do the same for Gendry.

Sansa would have very much liked to have closed the door as soon as they were all inside, but she couldn’t do something so rude after he’d come out in the cold to get them past three and the morning and had physically lugged Gendry out of the car. Sansa spent thirty minutes on the elliptical a few times a week, but she was not strong enough to have handled both Arya and Gendry in drunken stupors on her own.

So instead she lingered at the threshold, one foot inside, one outside. “Thank you for your help,” she told him.

Jon shoved his hands into his pockets. A lock of hair had escaped his bun and had fallen into his eyes.

“It was no problem, Sansa. It—it was nice to see you.”

He studied her face with an expression she couldn’t understand, and after a moment, gave a curt nod and turned to go.

“Jon!” she took a step forward into the night air and called out to him without meaning to.

He spun around.

“I—I met a friend of yours at school. Samwell Tarly.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think to take them back.

Jon blinked. “Samwell Tarly? How—he—but he’s with the Watch still.”

“He got a few days leave.”

Jon frowned, the lines of his forehead furrowed. He hadn’t had such deep lines there when they’d been in high school. “But why’d—“

“I’m dating Sam’s brother Dickon,” she said, trying to sound unaffected as she delivered the news; to her own ears, she just sounded squeaky.

“Oh,” Jon replied. His face shifted from astonishment and confusion to something else. He opened his mouth, as if to ask a question, but then closed it again.

“He—he said something about letters.”

“Sam loves old letters and books. Just like you. He’s always going on about a collection or something from medieval history—“

“No—these were your letters. Letters that you—well, you’d written to me.”

Jon frowned again, deeper this time. “He shouldn’t have said anything to you about that.”

“Is it true? Did you—“

Jon cut her off with a look. “You should go inside, Sansa,” he said gruffly.

She crossed her arms over her chest, showing no indication of leaving until he gave her answer.  
Jon sighed, and when he spoke, he sounded tired. “When I first joined the Watch, I was feeling homesick. Reception is really bad that far up north, so I used to write letters.”

  
“To me?” Sansa pressed.  
Jon’s shoulders sagged. “In a sense.”

  
“I don’t know what that means,” Sansa replied, voicing her thoughts aloud.

  
“I—I—” he sighed and gave her a look that made her heart drop. “It’s late,” Jon replied with more softness in his voice. “And you’re drunk.”

“But, I—“

He gave her a little smile. “It really was nice to see you. Good night, Sansa.”

And then he turned, walked back to Robb’s car, and drove into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to stop tinkering with this, because I knew I wasn't going to get it perfect.  
> But I hope you liked it!


	17. Time with Phone Calls

Two weeks later, Sansa was leaving her Gender, Politics, and Media class when her phone rang. Trying to balance her heavy bag over her shoulder and what was left of her morning tea, she shoved the phone under her ear.  
  
“Hello!” she answered breathlessly. In the back of her mind, she wondered if any of the law schools she’d applied to were on the other line. She should have checked the caller ID.  
  
“Sans!”

_Not a law school admissions officer, then_ , she realized with a sigh.

“How are you?” asked the overly cheerful voice of her older brother.  
  
Sansa paused at the stairwell and tried to rearrange her bag to keep it from sliding down her shoulder. In the process, she got her hair caught in her zipper and hissed in pain.  
  
“Sans? You ok?”  
  
She mumbled back as she pulled the hair out of the teeth of the zipper as gently as she could; not a single vulgarity escaped her lips, but internally she was thinking up curses that would have impressed even Rickon.  
  
“Sans?”

Hair free, she struggled to regain her balance on the stairs. “You know, now isn’t a really good time, Robb. I just got out of class, and I’m meeting—"  
  
“Please, Sansa. It’ll just be a minute.”  
  
She sighed. “Ok, but just a minute.” She checked her watch and then started making her way down the stairs. She was already running late because Prof. Lannister kept them ten minutes over to lecture on and on about how you should never love anyone but your children; she was going through a rough divorce, it seemed, and was even more acrimonious than usual.  
  
“Well, I—" He paused to laugh nervously. “Er, well—"  
  
“Robb, I’m running late, so when I said a minute, I really meant—"  
  
“Jeyne’s pregnant!” he blurted out. “I—uh—that is— I suppose you know that Jeyne, well, Jeyne is pregnant—with, uh, my child.”  
  
“Yes,” Sansa replied curtly as she made her way out of the stairwell and left the social sciences building. She tightened her scarf around her neck. “Mom and Dad might have mentioned that to me.” And it was all they talked about whenever she called. Her mother was stonily furious; her father failed to hide his disappointment in his eldest. Meanwhile, Arya couldn’t stop laughing, Bran seemed amused, and Rickon was just glad he didn’t have to be the youngest anymore.  
  
“Right,” said Robb, sounding miserable and anxious. “Well, I’ve asked Jeyne to marry me.”  
  
“You did? Already?”   
  
“Well, I just thought, it seemed the right thing to do. You know, to protect her honor.”  
__  
The right thing to do would have been to use a condom, Sansa thought.  
  
“When did you ask her?” she said, instead. She threw out her leftover tea as she passed a trash can; nothing was going to work to calm her down now.  
  
“An hour ago.”  
  
Sansa checked her watch. “Robb, you asked your knocked-up girlfriend to marry you at 9:30 in the morning?”  
  
“Er—yeah?”  
  
Sansa groaned. “You didn’t even to take her out to dinner or something first? Where’d you do it?”  
  
“In the parking lot?”  
  
“A PARKING LOT!” Sansa screeched, drawing the attention of some students on the quad. She ignored their stares and kept walking toward the student center. “How could you propose in a parking lot, you absolute nincompoop?” Sansa hissed.  
  
“I don’t know! We’d just got out of her doctor’s appointment, and you know, the doctor said the baby is the size of a kumquat.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“A kumquat.”  
  
“So I see it’s taking after you already, you big dumbquat,” Sansa grumbled.   
  
“I—it’s just—you weren’t there, Sans. It—the baby—it has a heartbeat. Like, it’s alive, you know? It’s alive, and it’s half of me, and I—I just wanted to show Jeyne that I’ll be there for her—and the baby—you know? I love her. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I love her. And I love that baby already, and I’m always going to be there for them. And I didn’t want her to leave that parking lot before she knew that.”  
  
Sansa sighed. “That’s actually a little sweet. Stupid,” she chastised. “But sweet.” She sighed again. “So when’s the wedding? I’m assuming she said ‘yes,’ but let the Seven save her—”  


“Hey!”

“Robb, you proposed in a parking lot. After getting her pregnant. You aren’t exactly winning any awards here.”

“I know, but—”

“I’m sorry. Congrats, Robb. I’m happy for you—and Jeyne. I’m excited to have a little niece or nephew, and I’ll do what I can to help with wedding preparations.”

  
“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he answered, sounding anxious again. “Jeyne wants to get married kinda soon so she’s not showing too much in the pictures. We’re thinking of getting married just after the New Year.”  
  
Sansa sucked in a breath. “Gods, that’s soon.”  
  
“Yeah,” agreed Robb with a shaky laugh.  
  
Sansa entered the student center and made her way toward the cafe. “So I’m guessing you’re calling because you need me and my years of imaginary wedding planning experience to help? You know, I’ll charge you for my scrapbook. That thing is worth $500, at least.”  
  
Robb let out a shaky breath. “Well, not exactly. Jeyne and her mom are gonna do most of that stuff, but I’m sure—“  
  
“Robb, if you don’t want my scrapbook, then what is it? Why do you sound like you’re about to be poked with a thousand needles?”  
  
He sighed. “I wanted your permission—"  
  
“My permission? Isn’t it a little late for that? You’ve already asked her, haven’t you?”  
  
“No—not—I wanted to know if it’s all right with you if I ask Jon to be my best man.”  
  
“Oh.” Sansa stopped in her tracks.   
  
“Sans?” Robb asked after a few seconds of silence. “You there?”  
  
“Yeah—I—Robb, of course you can ask him. Jon—Jon is your best friend.”  
  
“But I don’t want to make things difficult for you. I know—”

  
“That was a long time ago.”  
  
“Not that long,” Robb disagreed. “And I heard about what happened over Thanksgiving.”  
  
“Nothing happened over Thanksgiving. He just gave Arya, Gendry, and me a ride home. In fact, that’s proof that everything is fine. We’ve put everything behind us.” She sounded almost confident to her own ears, but she knew she wasn’t being completely honest. Seeing Jon again—this time not from afar or in the hospital—had been quite a shock. The day after Black Friday, apart from feeling hungover, she felt incredibly embarrassed. She hated that he’d seen her so drunk and that yet again it felt like he had the upper hand. Arya said that she had nothing to worry about and that she and Gendry had been in a far worse state, but Arya had slept through almost the whole car ride.

And she hadn’t been there when Sansa had tried to confront Jon about the letters, only to be met yet again with cryptic answers and dismissal.

But even though the circumstances had not been ideal and the reunion had not gone as well as she had hoped, at least it was over. And she would be more prepared for next time. And maybe with time and repetition, it would get easier—to the point where she could remain as unaffected as she hoped she seemed.  
  
“Sansa, really, if it’s not okay, I don’t have—I mean, I could ask Theon.”  
  
Sansa forced herself to laugh. “And what? Be bombarded by strippers for the next month and spend all your wedding budget on alcohol and cheap cologne? I don’t think so. Ask Jon. I—I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to him.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Okay. Thanks, Sans,” he said, sounding truly grateful. “I know things between you and Jon haven’t been the easiest since—"  
  
She took a deep breath. “Robb, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, all right?”  
  
“Oh, all right. Bye!”  
  
She hung up and noticed that her hands were shaking. She shoved them into her coat pockets and hurried over to the cafe.  
  
Dickon had already found a table and had purchased a new lemon tea for her, as well as a lemon scone. The sight warmed her heart; they’d not been able to spend much time together since before Thanksgiving due to their conflicting schedules and the hellish onslaught of end-of-semester coursework.  
  
She kissed his cheek before she sat down. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I’m so late.”  
  
“It’s fine. Take your time. I’ve just been checking my email.” When she had taken off her coat and settled into her chair, he took her hand. “You all right, love? You look a little frazzled.”  
  
Sansa let out a choked sort of laugh.  
  
Dickon’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”  
  
The sincerity in his voice was apparent. She squeezed his hand and made a choice. “Dickon, I know I haven’t said ‘I love you’ back to you yet.”  
  
He looked surprised. “Oh, Sansa.” He rubbed his thumb against the back of her palm. “That’s ok. I want you to be ready.”  
  
“I know, and I love that about you.”  
  
Dickon gave her a half-smile. “That’s not the same as loving me, though.”  
  
“I want to be in love with you. Doesn’t that count?”  
  
He sighed. “That depends. Do you think you can be?”  
  
Sansa and retracted her hand so she could cover her face with her fingers. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what I’ll be feeling—and where I’ll be next year—or what things will be like after graduation—“  
  
“Well,” said Dickon kindly, “what do you feel right now?”  
  
She looked up at his patient, kind eyes and inspected his gorgeous face.  
  
“I feel like you are just like a knight from the songs I’ve always loved since I was a little girl. But—something—I don’t know what it is— is holding me back. I wish that wasn’t true, because I want so badly to be in love with you.”  
  
“Is this—Sansa—do you want to break up?” Dickon asked gently.  
  
“Do _you_ want to break up?” she responded with far less calmness.  
  
“No,” he said firmly. “I think you are the most beautiful, kind, clever girl I’ve ever met, and I’d be mad to leave you. But if you’re not happy—"  
  
“But I am happy,” Sansa replied. “I enjoy our time together—so, so much. You’re sweet and kind and smart and handsome. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I just—"  
  
She could feel herself start to cry, and she rubbed away the tears.  
  
“Hey,” Dickon said. “It’s okay.”  
  
She sniffed. “I don’t want to break up, cause I really do like you, Dickon, and you’re one of my best friends I’ve made here—but it’s selfish and unfair to you—if I—if I—“  
  
Dickon cupped her cheek with his hand. “It’s ok, Sansa.”  
  
His tenderness only made her cry a little harder, and he brushed the tears aside with his thumb.  
  
“We can still spend time together—but maybe take a step back—while we figure out the rest.”  
  
“You’d be all right with that?”  
  
“Of course. You’re right. We don’t know where we are going to be next year, and school is enough pressure to put on ourselves. Let’s just dial things back for a bit, and see how we feel in a couple months?”

“What—what does that mean?”

“Well, we can talk about it more, but my guess is, still see each other when we can and still talk on the phone. But perhaps less physical stuff, so there’s less pressure…” His voice sounded melancholy as it drifted off.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If some space is what you need right now, Sansa, I’m happy to give it to you. And it’s not a break up – just a—”

“We’ve put a pin in it.”

“Yes.”  
  
Sansa reached over to kiss him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips.  
  
“I will miss that, though,” he teased.  
  
She laughed, loud and unexpectedly. Dickon was so good at cheering her up, so attuned to what her needs were at any given moment. She studied him for a moment. “This might sound strange, given that we’ve just put a pin in things—”

“—But with an agreement to talk about it more.”  
  
“With an agreement to talk more,” Sansa agreed. “But, Dickon, would you—would you consider coming to my brother’s wedding with me over the Christmas break? I know it’s kind of last minute, but I think I could use some support there.”  
  
He kissed the knuckles on her left hand. “Of course.” He patted her hand and then tilted his head in confusion. “Since when is your brother getting married?”  
  
She sighed. “We have a lot to catch up on.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading -- and especially for all the great comments! It really motivates me to keep writing!


	18. Time with Robb's Wedding (Part 1)

Just as Thanksgiving had been overshadowed by Robb and questions about his possibly expecting new girlfriend, Christmas was dominated by Robb and his definitely expecting fiancée. Although they still had guests over, it was a rushed affair with more focus on what was to come in the next two weeks than on the day itself. Normally Catelyn spent a generous amount of time shopping to get the best sales and make sure each of her children got two or three fancier items, with a smattering of smaller gifts they’d all come to expect—wall calendars, underwear, fuzzy socks, chapstick, new gloves, wolf-related paraphernalia.

But this year, those little items were nowhere to be found. Instead, they’d gotten mostly gift cards and items they’d need for the wedding, like bowties, emergency first-aid kits, and Advil.

“I’m sorry,” Cat told them Christmas morning after they’d finished opening their presents. “I know this isn’t exactly following tradition.”

“It’s fine, Mum,” Sansa assured her. “We know this year is a bit…unusual.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Arya noted dryly. “I’d say—”

“Arya,” said Sansa, sensing the need to deescalate the situation, “why don’t you help me go get everyone some eggnog?”

Ned gave her a grateful look and then went back to trying to comfort Cat.

When they were in the safety of the kitchen, Arya heaved a sigh. “I hope Robb knows he owes us a Christmas after fucking up this one for us.”

Their elder brother was over at the Westerlings house, having stayed the night with the future in-laws. He was bringing Jane over later in the afternoon to eat with the Starks. Sansa wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t have been wiser to stay away.

She caught Arya eyeing the kitchen knives.

“C’mon, let’s get breakfast ready. The snow outside looks perfect for making snowballs. You and Rickon can challenge Bran to a fight while I help Mom with dinner. Maybe see if Dad wants in.”

Arya dragged her gaze away from the knives. “All right then.”   
  
Since her mom was busy helping Mrs. Westerling with wedding preparation—or complaining about being left out—Sansa had taken up a lot of the slack. The first few days, it had been nice to focus on something tactile after her exams. They weren’t her hardest batch of tests, but her Equal Protection Law professor decided last minute he wouldn’t let them bring in their case briefs and they had to do everything from memory—and Prof. Lannister forced her to rewrite one of her papers because she didn’t like the topic Sansa had chosen, namely the importance of portrayals of more traditionally feminine characters in positions of strength in prestige television shows. And all that extra work had made Sansa last couple of weeks of the semester exhausting.  
  
But this wedding prep was exhausting in a different way. Almost every conversation she had was about the wedding, and it was frankly getting on her nerves. Sansa normally enjoyed wedding talk and organizing; she had a whole scrapbook to prove it. But everything was so rushed, and the logistics were so complicated that the whole thing just felt stressful, not fun.  
  
But there was no way to avoid it—as the entire Stark clan was involved and working their damndest to make this wedding happen. Sansa knew she was starting to tire her friends with discussion of it, and she’d even started to dream about catering menus and napkin colors.  
  
“It sounds like you could use a break,” said Gilly sympathetically over the phone after Sansa ranted about the wedding preparations to her for over thirty minutes. The wedding was only five days away now, and she was so ready for it to be over.  
  
“Or a lobotomy,” Sansa muttered.  
  
Gilly chuckled awkwardly.  
  
“Sorry, I’m being a total grouch. You’ve been so lovely to listen to me complain. We’ve barely spoken about you. Oh Gilly, I miss you and the girls.”  
  
“I miss you too. Sansa. I wish I were there to watch movies and eat lemon cakes with you, but I’ve got to help my sisters with the farm. Speaking of which, I’ve got to get going. But call me again, if you ever need to let off some steam. You know Brienne, Meera, and I have got your back. Keep your head up, Stark, and remember—it’s up to you to decide how you treat others.”  
  
“Thanks, Gilly. You always know what to say. Tell your sisters I say, ‘Happy New Year.’ Love you!”  
  
“Love you too!”  
  
Sansa took Gilly’s advice and left the house to clear her head and visit Ghost. His exuberance upon seeing her again was more than enough to help her sour mood. And she felt calmer by the minute as she brushed out his long coat with Ghost’s face in her lap.  
  
“You are my favorite boy in the whole world, Ghost,” she told him. “And I’ll never not love you.”

As she was getting ready to leave the sanctuary of Ghost’s pen behind, Sansa ran into Mr. Mormont. “Back for another visit, eh?”

“You know I can’t bear to be away from him for long.”

Mr. Mormont shook his head. “Never met a more spoiled beast in my life.”

Sansa just waved her hand.

“Thank you, though, Miss Sansa, for the new hat and scarf,” he said, gesturing to the items she’d scrambled to finish knitting on time for Christmas. “I’ll see you at the wedding in a few days.”

Sansa sighed. “That’s right. The event of the season.”

“I’ll expect a dance.”

That made her smile. “You got it.”   
  
When she got home from the reservation, Arya kept her company while she started on dinner. It was just them and Rickon, as her parents and Robb were eating with the Westerlings and Bran was hanging out with Hodor. It was not the most exciting as far as New Year’s Eves went, but she was fine with a drama-free evening. Gendry would be coming over later once he was done with work, and she was hoping to fall asleep on the couch before the ball even dropped.

“What should we eat?”  
  
Sansa studied the refrigerator with a frown. She was tired of leftovers of savory dishes. She spotted the maple syrup. “How would you feel about breakfast for dinner?”  
  
“I feel very good about that.”  
  
“Done.”  
  
Arya shuffled around as Sansa pulled out what she needed for French toast.  
  
“So when is Dickon getting in?”  
  
“Tomorrow at 3. I’m going to pick him up at the train station, and he’s going to be staying in Rickon’s room.”   
  
“Gross.”  
  
Sansa sighed. “I know. Bran offered his, but he needs the extra mobility and access. Rickon’s room will have to do.”  
  
“I’ll help you clean it tonight. I know where Rickon hides all his bugs.”  
  
Sansa groaned.   
  
“I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.”  
  
“Yeah? I’m glad. It’s such a shame he hasn’t had much of a chance to meet everyone before. I kind of feel like I’m throwing him to the wolves.”  
  
Arya laughed. “Gendry will be around for him to talk to, and luckily Robb will be too busy to do anything stupid to scare him off.”  
  
Sansa stopped beating the eggs in front of her. She could still remember that night when Robb upended what was supposed to be her first date with Jon; things were never the same after their conversation in the car. She hadn’t thought much about that night—had purposefully tried to push it from her mind till she got so good at pretending it had never happened. But thinking about it now made her realize how angry she still felt, how unresolved her feelings were about Robb’s interference and Jon’s abandonment.

With a flash, she could still remember the feeling, almost like being kicked in the stomach, when Robb had suggested Jon would never actually want to hang out with her had it not been for Ghost and the way Jon had avoided her eye and refused to stand up for her.

Gods, that had hurt.

She wasn’t a pining, lovesick teenager anymore—by any means. But the memory of that pain still ached.

She realized then, whisk in hand, that she did want answers and that perhaps more closure would help her to put that chapter of her adolescence and her whole history with Jon to rest. How much she wanted to sew up that wound and let it heal so she could finally move on.

  
“Sans?”  
  
“What? Oh, sorry. Just got lost in thought.”  
  
“S’fine. I just said you’ll have to be careful with Rickon, too. Cause you know, Dickon’s name isn’t exactly...”  
  
Sansa rolled her eyes and stirred some cinnamon into her egg mixture. “I’ve known many dicks in my life, but Dickon Tarly is not one of them. He can handle a joke.”  
  
“Can he handle five thousand?”  
  
The next morning she met up with Margaery to get their nails done. Sansa chose pale pink for her fingernails and blood red for her toes; Margaery went with mauve and gold.  
  
As their nails were polished, they flipped through fashion magazines and discussed hair and makeup options for the wedding.  
  
“I’m thinking long, glossy curls for the hair and something more demur for the makeup.”  
  
“Just you.”  
  
“Well, the dress shows so much cleavage, I have to leave something to the imagination.”  
  
Sansa rolled her eyes. “Mmhm.”  
  
“And what about you?”

“Me? I can imagine your cleavage just fine.”

“Sansa Minisa Stark!” Margaery exclaimed. “You are terrible today. I love it.”  
  
Sansa rolled her eyes.

“What dress is worthy of such a person?”

“I honestly wouldn’t get your hopes up. I’m probably going to wear this purple dress I wore to a school dance a couple years ago.” It was a nice dress with long sleeves and a floor-length skirt that would keep her warm. And no one who’d be attending the wedding had seen her in it before. It wasn’t going to drop any jaws, but it was pretty enough.  
  
“You aren’t going to get something new?”  
  
“There hasn’t been much time.”  
  
“Darling, there’s always time for a new dress.”  
  
Conveniently, Marg didn’t have any afternoon plans so she went with Sansa to pick up Dickon from the train station. During the ride, they discussed Sansa’s law school applications—in all the excitement she’d barely even registered that she’d already gotten two acceptances via email—and Marg’s plans to take what she learned in business school to open up her own floral shop with her grandmother.  
  
“Just better you than me,” Sansa said when she heard the news.   
  
“What? Gran is an absolute lamb.”  
  
“If you say so,” Sansa demurred.  
  
Margaery clapped her hands. “Enough shop talk. Tell me more about your beau. I saw pictures online. He looks like a complete dish.”  
  
Marg shoved a picture of a shirtless Dickon under her nose. “I’d positively pay to lick him clean.”  
  
Sansa turned a little pink. In the couple of weeks they’d been apart, she’d almost forgotten how handsome he truly was. “He is...occasionally very dishy.”  
  
“Oh, you absolute minx! I wish my date had shoulders like that.”  
  
“Who are you bringing again?”  
  
“Arianne Martell. I met her in one of my business classes. She’s very beautiful, and we’ve gone on a couple of dates, but it’s more casual. I only asked her—well, because I didn’t want to go alone. I didn’t think I could handle—well, you know, I always did have a crush on Robb...”  
  
Sansa knew, of course; her friend had never been shy about telling her all the inappropriate things she wanted to do to her older brother. But Margaery was a flirt; Sansa has always assumed she was joking, or at least exaggerating her crush on him. Now, though, Marg looked like she was fighting back tears.  
  
“Marg, I—"  
  
Her friend’s face transformed into a beaming smile. “Now, now, I think I see a pair of hulking shoulders at two o’clock. Run to him, won’t you, Sansa dear?”  
  
Sansa rolled her eyes but nevertheless did a sort of skipping run into his open arms. He was warm and smelled like roasted coffee and peppermint and held her close.  
  
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Sansa whispered into his neck.   
  
“Me too.”  
  
“I missed you.”  
  
Dickon smiled and pulled away so he could see her face. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Can I kiss you—just real quick?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Smiling, he leaned down to capture her lips—a little longer than he had said he would. “Happy New Year,” he whispered with his lips against her cheek and at her ear. He was still smiling, but his lips began to frown as he pulled away. “Your friend is watching us, I think.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure she is.”  
  
“Should I be worried about what I’ve gotten myself into?”  
  
“About Margaery? She’s just the tip of the iceberg.”  
  
“She doesn’t look that dangerous to me.”  
  
Sansa give him a wry smile. “Even roses have thorns. And you’ve just entered the wolves’ den.”  
  
“Good thing I have you to protect me.”  
  
“Good thing.”  
  
“How are you—really?”  
  
Sansa sighed. “My big brother is getting married in a shotgun wedding to a girl I think he only met about three months ago, my parents are absolutely overwhelmed, and my younger siblings are barely keeping it together. I’m as good as can be expected under the circumstances. How are you?” She plastered on a smile, laced her gloved fingers through his, and led him away from the train. “Ready to meet Margaery?”  
  
He swallowed nervously. “I think you were right about her being dangerous. She looks like she’s going to eat me.”  
  
Margaery must have overheard him because she grinned beatifically and winked at him. “With a spoon, handsome.”

Sansa tried not to laugh at the strangled noise that emerged from Dickon’s throat, but it was too perfectly hilarious. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she told him again.

“Nowhere I’d rather be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to show you what's coming next!  
> I anticipate the Robb wedding stuff might come in three parts -- but I might break it into four.  
> We will see.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments. It means so much to me, and it's helping to keep me motivated to write more!


	19. Time with Robb's Wedding (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long. I've been very busy, but I was also struggling to write the end of this chapter. Here we go!

"I think your boyfriend must really like you," Bran told her the morning before the wedding as they waited for the shop owner to bring out the tuxes they were renting.   
  
Sansa couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, what makes you say that?"  
  
"He's not once complained about Rickon."  
  
"Ugh, don't get me started."  
  
"One would think that the same dick joke told again and again would lead to diminishing returns, but I'm not sure our little brother understands the basics of economics—or comedy."  
  
"Or manners," Sansa lamented with a sigh. Rickon hadn't been the only one to test her boyfriend's resolve; besides dealing with Margaery upon his arrival, he'd had to meet both of her parents for the first time just as they learned that the wedding venue wanted to charge another $2,500 fee for the rush and Jeyne's parents were refusing to pay it—leading to the question of whether there'd be a wedding at all. After some heated telephone exchanges, Sansa was pretty sure her father had talked the venue down to just charging a $1,000 late fee, but she was fairly certain that money was coming out of his own checkbook.

Arya blamed Robb for being so stupid and inconsiderate, and Sansa tried her very best not to chime in when she started ranting about their older brother and all the money he was costing their parents. But at least Arya was trying not to complain too much in front of company. She’d kept the sarcastic comments directed mainly to Sansa and Gendry.

  
"We're eloping," she'd told Gendry the other day—much to her boyfriend’s surprise.  
  
"Really?" he'd managed to choke out.  
  
"Yes," she'd replied matter-of-factly. "We can have a party afterwards. Hotpie can make a cake because the best part is the cake. But I'm not putting myself through all this garbage. This wedding crap is giving me hives. I won’t go through this bullshit again. And I’ll be wearing pants."  
  
"Whatever you want," he said. "I've got what I want."  
  
"Cake?"  
  
"Nah, I've got you thinking about marrying me," he preened.  
  
The whole exchange had actually been quite adorable—to the point Sansa had wished she had a camera—until Arya sucker punched him.  
  
Poor Dickon had missed the whole thing, though, because he'd very nobly agreed to help her father shovel the driveway—despite not having much personal experience with deep snow. After an hour and a half when they’d come back inside, Dickon’s fingers had been frozen, his lips blue.  
  
She sighed again. "He has been a real trooper." She leaned over to place her hand on Bran’s shoulder. “Thanks for inviting him to hang out with you and Gendry last night. I know he appreciated it.”  
  
As Robb’s stag night had been the week before and quite a 21-and-over event—Sansa saw Theon the other day and wondered if he was still hungover—the night before had been a quiet one. Robb had spent the night with Jeyne and her family, and Rickon luckily had been at a friend’s house; Sansa suspected that had been her mother’s doing, for which she was most grateful.   
  
Sansa and Arya were roped into helping their mom with last-minute seating chart arrangements and making favors, and their father had to work.  
  
So Bran has taken the initiative to order pizza and play video games with Dickon—and invite Gendry, too, so there wouldn’t be as much pressure to bond with the younger brother.  
  
“I like Dickon.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yeah, he knows a lot about the Westerosi criminal code and how to evade certain charges on technicalities. I think those talents will prove useful in the future, should Rickon reach 18.”  
  
Sansa swallowed her laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She tapped her foot. “What time is it?”  
  
“10:52.”  
  
“And what time were these supposed to be ready?”  
  
“I think 10:45, but since Robb isn’t here to sign for them...” Robb was supposed to be here to meet them and help with picking up the tuxes, but there'd been a minor catastrophe with the catering. There’d been minor catastrophes with everything, it seemed. This wedding, if it actually took place, would be a miracle.  
  
Sansa took a deep breath. “All right, you stay here.”  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“To get our tuxes.”  
  
Six minutes later, Sansa returned to the front counter with a bag-laden shop worker hurrying behind her.   
  
She gave Bran a smile as the man typed everything into the cash register.   
  
“There’s nine bags” Bran counted as the man went through them all. “We’re only supposed to pick up eight tuxes.”  
  
“Something caught my eye, and I’m an excellent negotiator,” Sansa told her little brother with a wink.  
  
“Everything is in order, Miss Stark.”  
  
“Thank you so much, Illyrio. You’ve been such a help.”

“Let me help you to your car.”

When everything was packed, Sansa shook the man’s hand in gratitude and thanked him once more.

“You will look radiant, Miss Stark. I just know it.”

Sansa grinned and waved goodbye. When she got behind the driver’s seat, Bran looked at her in confusion. “I thought you told Mom you already had a dress for the wedding.”

“I did,” Sansa replied. “But a very wise woman told me just the other day that there’s always time for a new dress.”

“What if it doesn’t fit? Did you even try it on?”

“It’ll fit,” Sansa told him. “Don’t you fret, Bran. I have an eye for these things.”

“How did you get him to give it to you for free?”

Sansa grinned. “There’s nothing a little bit of persuasion and good manners can’t accomplish.”

Bran applauded softly. “If only Robb had you around to deal with the caterers this morning.”

“Yes, well, we all know that Robb can manage just fine on his own.” Upon his silence, she turned to her younger brother and winked.

 

Tuxes in tow, they went to the florist next and then dropped off a check at the limousine shop. As they were leaving, Sansa’s stomach grumbled. “Did you have a chance to look at the menu of the place we’re going tonight—it’s a Dornish restaurant, right?”

Bran sighed. “Over-priced and needlessly pretentious. You can’t pick your side dish; they get automatically assigned. And of course all the good meat options are paired with the worst vegetables.”

“Does the vegetarian option at least look good? Sometimes—”

“It’s not only vegetarian but also vegan and gluten-free. A meal for all the difficult people.”

Sansa frowned. “Why in the name of all the gods would we go there then?”

“Mom said it was close to the venue.”

Sansa bit her tongue to avoid saying what she was thinking. Her stomach grumbled again. “We should eat now. At least we’ll be able to get one good meal in today.”

“The Ice Shack isn’t too far from here,” said Bran, grinning. “We could get milkshakes—strawberry.”

For a moment, she was 15, sitting in the Ice Shack parking lot, sipping on a strawberry milkshake and munching on fries in the front seat of Jon Snow’s car.

But when she blinked, she was 21 again and in the driver’s seat. “All that dairy won’t be good right before we have to take so many pictures. Why don’t we stop and get some sandwiches to bring home? I’m sure everyone is hungry there.”

Bran accepted her excuse, and she drove toward the nearest sandwich shop.

“Thank you, little one,” her father said when they returned with chores completed and lunch for everyone. “We would not survive this weekend without you.”

“That’s not true,” Sansa said, though she was not so sure.  

“Let’s not find out,” Ned muttered. “Go on and get ready. The boys and I can take it from here.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. All’s that left is getting things in the car and getting everybody dressed up before we go set up at the church. Maybe see if you can convince Arya—”

Sansa laughed. “I’ve never been able to convince Arya to do a single thing in my entire life. Do you really think this is the weekend when that’s going to change?”

 

With his laughter ringing in the hall, she made her way upstairs and to the bathroom. There wasn’t much time, but she desperately wanted a bath. It was going to be a long weekend; she needed to take the opportunities for quiet solitude when she could.

The bath worked, somewhat, to calm her down, but with each hour the rehearsal loomed closer, she could feel her pulse quicken.

Once dry and hair blown out, Sansa sat in front of her vanity mirror and applied her makeup as carefully as she could. Sansa was usually pretty good at doing makeup, but she wanted to make sure that it looked absolutely perfect. Before applying her lipstick, a rose pink shade, she slipped into her outfit for the evening: a dark teal silk dress with long sleeves and buttons down the front.

She hummed under her breath as she methodically braided her long hair into a fish tail and then studied herself in the mirror.

“You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell. You are Ned and Cat’s daughter. You can do this,” she whispered under her breath. Do what exactly, she wasn’t sure. But saying it aloud made her feel like it was true.

As she was slipping into her heels, a knock sounded on her door. “It’s open!” she said as she tried to find where she’d put her purse.

“Wow, Sansa, you look really pretty.”

Sansa stopped searching for her purse and turned to smile at her little brother Rickon; his hair was wild, but he still looked so sweet in his grey suit with the tie still undone.

“Thank you. C’mere, I’ll do up your tie for you.”

“I tried, but Bran’s directions didn’t make any sense.”

“That’s okay. I’m very good at ties. Mom taught me how to do Robb’s ties for him when we were your age.”

“Why?” Rickon ask as he watched Sansa’s fingers work the fabric. “Why didn’t she teach him?”

“Well, Robb couldn’t very well be trusted to do it himself, could he?” In truth, Cat had tried over and over again, but Robb had always been a bit hopeless at it. Sansa, whose fingers were nimble even then from knitting, was a much better student for it.

The joke made Rickon laugh, but his smiled turned to a frown. “I can’t believe Robb’s getting married.”

_Neither can I_ , Sansa thought. “There,” she said instead as she patted the tie against his chest. She brought him over to her mirror to take a look. “Now don’t you look handsome?”

The compliment made him glow, but he tore his eyes away from his reflection to look at her instead. “Will you dance with me at the wedding tomorrow?”

“Of course I will. What a lucky girl I am; my dance card seems quite full. It is going to be one eventful wedding for sure.”

 

Rickon insisted on assisting Sansa down the stairs, even though she tried to assure him that she didn’t need any help walking in heels, even if they were stilettos.

“Those are death traps, Sansa. No one should walk in those.”

“Agreed,” Arya said as she squeezed past them. “And it’s not like you need to be any taller anyway.”

Arya had kept her hair down, but the green dress she wore was quite pretty, even when offset by the combat boots Sansa had bought for her.

“Tall girls can still wear heels,” Sansa insisted.

“They just need the right date.” Dickon had appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He looked so good in his navy suit that Sansa let out a sigh.

“You look beautiful,” he told her.

“I already told her that,” Rickon told Dickon.

Dickon shrugged. “Better late than never, I guess. You ready?” he asked as he handed Sansa her coat. “I think your parents want us to meet them in the car.”

“Yes,” she lied. “Let me just grab some tissues for my purse. You go on ahead.”

 

Arya found Sansa, staring at the tissue box in the downstairs bathroom, and reached out to squeeze her hand. The look in her eyes told Sansa she knew exactly what was making her older sister so nervous.

“It’s just a few words and then dinner,” Arya whispered to her. “You’ll get through it. Even with him there.”

Sansa nodded and squeezed Arya’s hand back.

Arya seemed unable to allow the tenderness of the moment to last any longer. “C’mon, let’s go get this over with. We’re not only gaining a sister, we are hopefully losing a brother.”

“Arya!” Sansa hissed, despite letting out a short shout of laughter.

“Don’t tell Mom I said that!”

“You have no manners whatsoever, Arya Stark.”

“Well, someone has to keep us entertained.”

Sansa sighed and held her chin high as she made her way to the car. _You can do this._  
  



	20. Time with Robb's Wedding (Part III)

“You don’t approve.”  
  
Cat sighed and shook her head. “No, Sansa, dear, I didn’t say that. Of course, you can wear any dress you’d like, it’s just—"  
  
“Yowza,” Arya exclaimed as she walked into their parents’ bathroom where Sansa and Cat were already gathered among lipsticks and hair products. “I can almost see your navel.”  
  
“No you can’t,” Sansa replied, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Perhaps you should lean over so we can double check—I wouldn’t want to have a wardrobe malfunction—"  
  
“Or old Mr. Mormont will swallow his tongue when he sees your nips pop out.”  
  
“Arya!” Sansa screeched. “Gross! Mr. Mormont is a nice man.”  
  
“A nice man who might catch a glimpse of what the good Lord gave you.”  
  
Sansa stuck her tongue out at Arya as she applied her mascara.  
  
“Sansa, though, really, have you thought about—“  
  
“Mom, gods, I’m wearing double-sided tape, if you must know.”  
  
Cat sighed heavily. “Good. Well, then, if this is what you want to wear...”  
  
“It is,” Sansa stated firmly as she traced the silver sequins of her gown down her hips. It was floor length and form-fitting—and despite Arya’s comment—it did not reveal her navel. But Sansa might be battling Margaery for the role of Cleavage Queen.  
  
When she saw the dress yesterday, she knew it would fit and that it would be exactly what she needed for the day. The silver sequins reminded her in a way of chainmail, and she wanted a coat of armor to protect her today. She didn’t want to be shattered like porcelain or cracked like ivory; she wanted to be impenetrable steel.  
  
Yesterday had been difficult but not impossible. She hadn’t had to watch the rehearsal in the church because she—and by extension Dickon—has volunteered to wait in the lobby to greet people as they came in and direct them toward the main hall, the bathroom, or anywhere else they needed to go. Then she and Dickon walked over to the Dornish restaurant to make sure everything was set up and ready for thirty-some guests.  
  
“Are you all right, Sansa?” Dickon had asked her, his forehead lined with concern.  
  
“Of course,” she replied automatically as she flitted between the tables to refold the napkins.  
  
He reached out to still her hands. “I know you’re worried about seeing Jon Snow again.”  
  
Sansa sighed. She’d told Dickon bits and pieces about him throughout their relationship. She hadn’t given him that many details—mainly explained that she’d had a bit of a crush on one of Robb’s friends that she thought had been requited but apparently hadn’t—or at least not in the way she’d hoped.   
  
And Dickon, of course, knew that Jon had been in the Night’s Watch and that Sansa had worried about his safety. They’d talked about Jon a bit more after she met Sam; he’d been interested in her unexpected connection to his brother.  
  
But it was likely that one of her siblings might have gotten to him based on his tone.  
  
“I am nervous,” Sansa told him as she grasped Dickon’s hand in her own. “He really hurt me when I was still so young and impressionable, and it’s hard to see him again. Even with how much I’ve changed and grown, seeing him makes me feel like that stupid little fourteen year-old girl again.”   
  
Dickon kissed the corner of her mouth. “He didn’t deserve you then, and he doesn’t now. Don’t let him ruin this weekend for you.”  
  
“Cause it’s going to be such a stellar weekend otherwise,” Sansa deadpanned.  
  
Dickon smiled weakly and helped her fix the rest of the napkins before the guests arrived.  
  
He’d stayed with her as she helped to greet more people and play hostess to make sure everyone was settled and had everything they needed. And he held her hand during dinner.  
  
She could always sense where Jon was, even though she tried not to look directly at him. A few times throughout the dinner she recognized that him was trying to get her attention, but Sansa always found a way to avoid him.   
  
She doubted she’d be so lucky today.   
  
“What is it, Mom? Just say it.”  
  
Cat sighed. “Well, it’s just—seems inappropriate for you to outshine the bride.”  
  
That thought hadn’t crossed Sansa’s mind, and for half a moment she thought about going to her room to put on the other dress when Arya interrupted.  
  
“S’not like Sansa wasn’t gonna do that anyway, even if she wore a burlap sack. She’s always the prettiest girl in the room.”  
  
“Tied for prettiest,” Sansa amended.  
  
Arya rolled her eyes, but Sansa could still detect a blush underneath her younger sister’s layers of makeup.  
  
“You’ll wear a shawl in the church,” Cat told Sansa pointedly.   
  
“I’ve got a faux white fur one that’ll go perfectly.” She’d made it years ago when she’d cosplayed as Good Queen Alysanne from _A Dance with Dragons_ at a Renaissance Fair in Torrhen’s Square.  
  
Cat sighed but nodded and smiled weakly at her two daughters. “I suppose it’s alright then.”  
  
Sansa grinned, and Arya whooped. “Is it cool if I take scissors to my hem then?”  
  
“Don’t you dare, Arya Stark.”  
  
“But what if I wear a cloak for the ceremony?”  
  
Sansa had to try very hard not to laugh at their bickering so that she wouldn’t screw up as she put on her lipstick—blood red to match her toes.  
  
  
Shawl in place, Sansa took Dickon’s hand as he helped her into the car that had come to take them, Gendry, Arya, and her parents to the church; her brothers were already there getting ready.   
  
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, you look very beautiful,” Dickon murmured in her ear.  
  
Sansa gave him a wide smile. “Wait till you see the dress without the shawl.”  
  
Despite all the last-minute errands she had run on her brother’s behalf, everything was a bit chaotic still at the Church. Sansa was on her way to help her mother find Mrs. Westerling to figure out what happened to all the bridesmaids’ bouquets when she felt a tug at her wrist.  
  
She spun around on her heels. “Rickon? What are you—what is it?”  
  
“Sansa, can you help with the ties again? In Robb’s room, nobody can—"  
  
Her eyes dropped to the necktie in his hand. “Of course. I’ll get you looking perfect in just a second.”  
  
When she was done, she told him he looked like a dream, which made Rickon beam.  
  
“Can you come do Bran too? Theon can’t tie his either, and Robb—”  
  
Before Sansa could protest, Rickon grabbed her hand and was yanking her toward the groom’s dressing room.   
  
“Rickon, sweetie, I really don’t think this is the best idea—“  
  
But he’d already shoved her inside.  
  
“Sansa!” Robb exclaimed. “My beautiful sister. Thank the Gods you’re here. I’m absolutely hopeless without you.” He handed her his white bow tie. “Could you help a brother out? It is my wedding day after all.”  
  
Sansa plastered on a smile and obliged him—and then Bran. While she was working on Theon’s tie, Jon walked in.   
  
“Everything with the priest is sorted, Robb. He says we’re ready to go in thirty.”  
  
Sansa’s hands stilled for a moment as she caught a glimpse of him. She’d never seen Jon Snow in a tux before. The sight proved to be a little too much, so she forced her eyes back to the task at hand.  
  
“Thirty minutes? Already. Wow. I guess this is really happening.” Robb sucked in a deep breath. “I’m getting married.”  
  
Bran rolled over to help Robb, and the movement drew Jon’s eye to the back of the room.  
  
“Sansa.”  
  
She peered at Jon over Theon’s shoulder. “Jon.”  
  
She began pulling at Theon’s neck that he groaned a little. “Sorry!” she fretted to him. “I’ll be done in a second. I’m just helping with the ties. Rickon—"  
  
“Sansa did all our ties for us!”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“She could’ve done yours too, but—“  
  
Jon’s tie was already tied. _Precisely_ , Sansa noted.  
  
“I learned in the army,” Jon explained in Sansa’s direction without quite meeting her eye.   
  
“Yes, of course you did.”  
  
“Just mine, though. I can’t do anyone else’s.”  
  
“No, that would be a strange training exercise.”  
  
A moment of pregnant silence passed, which Sansa ended by clapping her hands together. “Well, I should get going. Mom might need me. Best of luck, Robb.”  
  
“Thanks, Sans,” said Robb, looking only slightly nauseous. She blew a kiss to Rickon and shared a look with Bran before sweeping out of the room.  
  
Then, after nearly a half hour of dodging hairspray, welcoming guests, and searching for a missing bouquet, she and Dickon were sat on the groom’s side next to Arya and Gendry.  
  
“Here goes,” Arya muttered darkly under her breath as the organ kicked in.  
  
“Here goes,” Sansa chanted back.  
  
The procession went quickly and mostly smoothly. Luckily, the music was loud enough to cover Sansa’s choking laughter when Arya saw the bridesmaids’ dresses and announced with a snort of relief that she was glad Jeyne hadn’t asked either of them to be in her bridal party.  
  
Jeyne was grinning widely as her father escorted her down the aisle. She’d chosen the dress well; even though neither the capped sleeves nor the blush color were to Sansa’s taste for a wedding dress, it hid her baby bump well. She could really only spot it from the profile as Jeyne walked past their pew.  
  
Father Luwin, the priest Sansa had known since she was a little girl who’d baptized all the Stark children and even married her parents, would be leading the ceremony the next day. His gentle but strong voice and familiar face helped calm her nerves. Sansa focused on him rather than the happy couple and Arya, who kept pinching herself so she wouldn’t say anything or start laughing inappropriately.

Sitting through the ceremony felt tedious, even though it was finished within a matter of minutes. Sansa amused herself primarily by watching Rickon, who looked adorable all dressed up in his tux and was trying his best to listen but could not seem to stop fidgeting his legs.

“Did he take his ADHD medication today?” Sansa heard her mother whisper to Ned.

She didn’t hear the answer because as soon as the words “Love is patient, love is kind,” were uttered, Arya started pretending to throw up into Gendry’s lap.

Robb and Jeyne stuck with the traditional vows, for which Sansa was grateful because personalized ones were so often overly long and too personal for a church ceremony. Besides, weddings were meant to be traditional.

Even though she was still quite peeved at her older brother and barely knew Jane, Sansa still felt a little tug at her heartstrings when they pronounced: “I am his; he is mine; I am hers; she is mine.”

At last, they kissed, and the procession began. Arya’s heavy sigh mixed with Sansa’s own.

“Just the reception now,” her sister noted. “Almost done.”

“Pictures first,” Sansa reminded her.

Arya groaned, but a quick look from their mother shut her up.

Taking the group photos in the church was a bit chaotic. The photographer kept telling certain Starks to sit down and others to get back up toward the altar. But after about twenty minutes, they were on their way to the reception.

“Can I get you a drink?” Dickon asked as they walked in.

“In the name of all the gods, yes, please,” Sansa told him.

As he headed off toward the bar, she found their table and finally removed the fur her mother had made her wear.

The first person who spotted her was Margaery—a fact which should have come to no surprise.

“Sansa Minisa Stark! I thought you said you were going to wear some old number.”

“I was, but then I changed my mind.”

“Indeed! Changed your mind and lost half your fabric in the process.” Margaery bit her lip, shaking her head with a smug look. “And here I thought I would win for lowest neckline at the wedding.”

Sansa smiled sweetly. “No shame in second best, darling.”

“You know, if Dickon doesn’t propose to you on the spot, he’s not just stupid but blind, as well.”

Sansa just rolled her eyes. “One wedding this calendar year is quite enough already.”

“Unless, this isn’t for Dickon’s benefit?”

Sansa straightened her posture and raised her chin. “I wore this dress for me.”

“And gods, do you look good in it,” Margaery observed with a smirk.

“Yes, well,” Sansa allowed, “there is that.” A smirk quirked at her own lips and had not quite faded by the time Dickon brought her a flute of champagne.

“Gods, you look….” he trailed off.

Sansa took the proffered drink and leaned up to give him a deep kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear as she smudged away the traces of her lipstick from his lips. “I think I spot Arya over by the corner, and there's still a bit of time to sneak some food before the speeches begin. Shall we go?”

“Let’s.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have never seen Sophie in this dress, here is my inspiration. I've always thought she looks gorgeous in this dress.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to have a little more reception in it, but I got a little carried away. So expect probably two more wedding chapters.  
> Thanks for all the amazing feedback! Your comments really inspire me to keep writing.  
> A very merry Christmas to all who celebrate!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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